


Dust to Dust

by PorcelainStorm



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Flashbacks, Friendship/Love, Graphic Everything, Slow Burn, Smut? maybe?, Violent Death, War, slight PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2018-10-09 09:39:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 65,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10409253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PorcelainStorm/pseuds/PorcelainStorm
Summary: Where did Hydra come from?  An idea?  A twisted dream?  For an organization that spans centuries, it kept relatively quiet until contemporary times.The Super Soldier serum wasn't dreamt up over night, but was the product of numerous experiments both unethical and violent over the course of the century.  It was going to be the end of all conflicts between good and evil.  Scientists died trying to determine the next level of the serum, only for it to be stolen by enemies.  Back and forth until one side had the advantage.Mabel Foster was everything the ideal woman should be in 1914.  She was well brought-up, wealthy, educated and the heiress to a large fortune.  When her father died in a much publicized U-boat attack by the Germans, Mabel made a decision that changed the course of history by enlisting in the French Army during WWI.  After an ambush gone bad, Mabel found herself captured by an early group of Hydra.100 years later she's discovered in a desolate Hydra base and is taken by the Avengers for safe-keeping and questioning.  Little do they realize that all of their destinies and pasts are directly connected through the nest that Hydra weaved.





	1. Ghost

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for stopping by my second story on here! I'm really proud of how this has been developing so far and I hope you all love it as much as I do. This story took a LOT of research and I'm hoping to be as historically accurate as possible. 
> 
> Let me know what you think by dropping a comment or kudos my way!
> 
> Enjoy!

 

 _**"I didn’t even cry because pieces of me had already died.  I’m a ghost, haunting these halls."** _  

**-Ingrid Michaelson** _**(Ghost)**_

* * *

**November 11th, 2018- Washington D.C., United States of America**

  _“And on this celebration of peace,_ ” President Ellis smiled at the crowd of thousands that had gathered in the National Mall to recognize 100 years since the end of World War 1.  “ _We look to the world around us.  A fragile world, but a united world.  A world that will never succumb to evil or terror again.  Join me in vowing to fight for our peace, for our world.  For future generations.”_

The crowd erupted in applause.  It was easy to see why Ellis was such a popular president.  When he was reelected for a second term, it was by a practical landslide that he won.  He’d managed to calm the world during some of the most chaotic times since World War 2. 

Steve and Bucky stood off to the side of the Mall.  They both sported baseballs caps and sunglasses while they watched the speech on a nearby screen.  Initially neither of the men wanted to attend, but after Sam insisted that it was their duty to honor their fallen brothers of _all wars_ , they reluctantly agreed. 

Surprisingly, they weren’t the only vets from the second great war.  Men and women who had to be pushing their hundreds were carted around by family members or VA nurses.  They were dressed smartly in their formal uniforms, a tired look of pride that both super soldiers recognized instantly. 

A few of the men knew who they were and insisted the pair join them for pictures or lunch, but after a few snapshots the super soldiers pulled themselves away; citing some reason or another to leave. 

“Where did Sam go anyway?” Bucky grumbled after he and Steve took another handful of pictures.  “I don’t see bird-boy charming the masses.” 

“He said something about lunch,” Steve replied dryly.  He pulled off his sun glasses and squinted into the crowd.  People were still mulling about after the speech.  Some had wandered toward the World War 1 memorial for the second ceremony, but largely Ellis’ big speech had been the major draw. 

“I could eat a horse right now, he’d better hurry up,” Bucky continued in annoyance. 

“You could always eat a horse, Buck.  Serum or not,” Steve chuckled.  He clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder and looked up when a familiar voice shouted toward them.  “Speak of the devil." 

“I don’t see food,” Bucky murmured with a short shake of his head.  Steve elected to ignore the comment and walk toward an impatiently waiting Sam Wilson.

“Do you guys even bother checking your phones?  Or do you prefer communicating by smoke signals?” the flying Avenger complained sharply.  Steve stiffened and scrambled for the small device in his back pocket.  When he glanced over the screen he quickly realized that Sam, Tony and Natasha had all collectively tried to get in contact with him.  A look to Bucky confirmed the same thing.

“Did you bring lunch?” Bucky questioned with a narrowed gaze.  “Because I’m not doing anything until I have a sandwich in my stomach.”

“I’m having pizza delivered to my place, Tony’s meeting us there in twenty minutes for a mission briefing,” a brief expression of irritation flashed across Sam’s face before he smirked at Steve.  “He wake up on the wrong side of the bed?" 

Steve frowned and shrugged at his newer friend.  Honestly he wasn’t too surprised that Bucky was acting like he had a thorn in his shoe, the ceremony and those attending it probably hit him the wrong way. 

Hell, when they’d been growing up, everyone and their father had served the US in the Great War- _the War to end all Wars_.  It wasn’t even a distant memory; they knew of men who had suffered from mustard gas or lost limbs from the trenches’ horrific conditions.

Steve’s own father had lost his life in the conflict, a loss that affected the American hero even today.

“So what does Tony want?” Bucky switched from moping to interest in their upcoming mission.  Steve knew it was the best he could do to distract himself from reality. 

“They found an _old_ Hydra base in northern Germany,” Sam explained quietly, his voice dropping when a group of teenagers on a school trip laughed past them.  “Like old, old.”

“I thought Coulson was dealing with the older bases,” Steve questioned, his brows knitted together in confusion.  “With the Inhumans and all…”

“This one is special,” Sam replied cryptically.  They were fortunate that Sam lived close by all of the major DC monuments as the group didn’t need to wait very long for further information.

Tony Stark was waiting in front of the small suburban home, leaned up against Sam’s truck when they arrived. 

“You better not have scratched the paint,” Sam threatened, earning a smirk from Tony.

“I’ll buy you a new one, don’t worry,” the billionaire chided back.  “Cap’n, _Frosty_.” 

He gave the soldiers a mock salute before allowing them to lead the way inside. 

Since the ordeal with the Accords and Bucky’s stasis in Wakanda, the pair had reached a cool agreement of peace.  Tony wouldn’t kill Bucky and Bucky wouldn’t try to stir things up around the genius.  Over time, their uneasy surrender terms allowed the team to work their full potential- and they pair warmed up slightly. 

No one was holding hands and singing church hymns, but Steve was thankful they could sit in a room together without hurling insults or firing a gun.

Bucky spied the pizza on the counter first and grabbed two large pieces, shoving them in his mouth and plopping down in a nearby dining chair.  

“So Hydra base?” Steve looked to Tony for further explanation and the tech-genius helpfully obliged. 

“It’s perfect timing,” he joked.  Tony reached in his pocket and pulled out a small tablet and set it on the dining room table.  He opened his hand over it and the table was soon covered in a large map of Germany.  “World War 1 era, with early indications of experimentation.  Did a little homework and the team that eventually worked under Dr. Erskine had raided the place in the 1930s.  But, they missed a whole hidden section that I wasn’t even able to detect until I threw a few tiny bots in there.” 

“You’ve already been there?” Bucky leaned forward in his seat.  “That’s a little reckless, even for you Stark." 

“ _Please_ ,” the brunette closed the map and looked to the former assassin.  “Your worry is making me blush.  Fury was documenting a few things and I asked if my little drone buddies could tag along.  We’ve been tasked with getting whatever we can out of there.  Primarily, because we have no idea if it’s been booby-trapped or anything.”

“Sounds safe,” Sam laughed.  He grabbed a slice of pizza for himself and leaned up on his kitchen counter.  “Who’s being called in?" 

“Captain, Mr. Freeze here, and myself are the primary group,” Tony passed Sam the mission details on the tablet.  “You, Clint and Nat are backup.  We’re also bringing Banner to document anything we find.”

“I never get the fun job,” Sam sighed, passing the tablet to Steve.  The blonde chuckled and glanced over the information before handing it off to Bucky.

“You also can’t heal quickly if a cave collapses on you,” he reminded his friend.  “Unless Tony wants to give up another suit?”

“Been there, regretted that, Birdy you’re waiting in the jet,” Tony ordered sharply.  Sam looked to Steve for backup but the blue-eyed soldier simply grabbed a slice of food and shrugged.

“When do you we leave?” Bucky asked, his eyes flicking over the information on the tablet. 

“We’re leaving from a SHIELD airfield nearby in about thirty minutes, the rest of the team will rendezvous in Berlin before we move north.”

Silence fell over the kitchen before Steve finished his food and grinned.

“If no one else is going to say it… _Avengers assemble_.”

“I hate you,” Sam snorted left the room for his equipment.

* * *

 

“If that place doesn’t scream world domination…” Clint muttered through the ear comms from his position in the jet.  The main team had brought in video surveillance as a means of tracking and documenting the whole Hydra base; which allowed the backup team to follow along with screen in the jet.  “Large ominous cave, metal doors, secret passages… I wouldn’t be surprised if a yeti pops up somewhere.”

“ _Clint_ -,” came Steve’s strained voice and the archer silenced.

“I’m just saying,” he murmured to Natasha who ignored her partner, her gaze fixed steadily on the screen in front of her.  Her eyes tracked every inch of the screen for potential dangers the trio may have overlooked. 

“Tony, what’s that to your left?” Bruce questioned into the comm, watching over Nat’s shoulder. 

“Looks like a boulder,” Tony replied before running a few scans.  “But isn’t made of boulder material- good catch Dr. Banner.  Let’s blow it up and see what happens." 

Steve and Bucky took a step back while Tony raised his hand and blasted through the mystery rock with ease.  When the dust settled, an entryway was made visible to everyone. 

“Looks like we found _another_ hidden gem,” Tony practically sang into his mic.  Steve and Bucky mobilized and started ahead of their mechanically inclined companion. 

Steve knew that patience was the key when dealing with Tony on these types of missions.  Even if Stark wouldn’t admit it, he was a huge dork when it came to old artifacts; especially if they were based in some sort of science of technology.  And when Stark got excited, certain details could be missed, which was why he had both Natasha and Banner watching for any small detail that could be lost in their search. 

“Sending in the drones,” Tony announced, releasing a handful of small bots to create a scan of the new cavern. 

So far, everything they’d found involved old Hydra lore, things about Hive and sacrifices that the team was already aware of.  But something told Steve that they might have uncovered something a little bigger than a filing cabinet this time.  When Tony gave the all clear, he and Bucky entered the large area and glanced around. 

Aged computers from the 1940s and beyond littered the base, knocked over containers, broken beakers, syringes of various sizes and a rusted operating table tucked away in the corner. 

“I’ve been in here before,” Bucky stated, his hands running over a nearby cabinet. 

“You okay, Buck?” Steve took a hesitant step toward his friend and the brunette nodded.  Steve visibly relaxed, but he could see Tony in the corner tense under his armor. 

“It was brief, an exchange after the fall from the train.  Before my arm…” he rambled off and walked over to the table silently.  Steve knew better than to disturb Bucky’s train of thought when it came to these things- anything he could remember might come in handy during the debriefing. 

“I’m going to see if I can snag anything off of these relicts,” Tony announced.  He began to pull away metal part to get into the memory of the machines.  Steve was left scanning the room for any further abnormalities. 

“Any secret passageways?” Clint pressed in his ear quietly.  “Seems a little too sterile for this to be it." 

Steve was inclined to agree when his attention fell on an out of place panel toward the back of the lab.  

He ran his fingers over the surface, before they caught on a small notch in the side.  When he gave it a tug, it was firmly held in place. 

“Buck?  Gimme a hand?” he shouted to his friend.  Bucky snapped himself back to the situation and studied the panel carefully. 

“You think it’ll budge?” he questioned with an unconvinced frown.  “Might have to let Tony have a go at it.”

“I’m busy,” Tony retorted over his shoulder, dissecting the different parts of the old computer.  “I’m pretty sure you strapping young men can handle it.”

Steve gave a shrug and started to pull at the edge of the surface.  With Bucky’s eventual help, they pair were able to pull it off of the wall.  It fell backward onto the floor with a loud thud and the duo froze at what was in front of them.

“ _No way_ ,” Bucky whispered.  “Absolutely impossible.”

And yet here they stood.  Steve started forward and ran a hand over the smooth surface of the device.  It was older than anything he’d seen in previous Hydra bases.  

“ _Is that a…?”_ Banner tried to clarify over the comm, but was so caught up in the moment he lost his words.  No one moved while Steve rubbed away a bit of dirt toward the bottom of the machine. 

“ _Pierre Garnier_ ,” he read out loud.  Tony had moved from his previously location and loomed over Bucky’s shoulder, trying to get a better view. 

“FRIDAY, run the name through,” Stark ordered and the AI got to work, scanning every known database on the unknown person.  “Should we open it?”

Uneasy glances passed between the men.  No one had a good answer.  Bucky knew that any semblance of the Winter Soldier program needed to be left alone, but based off of the age of the containment pod- this was way before they’d managed to capture _him_.  Way before the Winter Soldier.

“Pierre Garnier was a soldier with the French army in 1914.  He did a brief stint in the United States before returning to enlist after the much talked about killing of industrialist Maxwell Foster.  Apparently he was engaged to Foster’s daughter Mabel, before she ran off with a mysterious Duke after her father’s death.  Garnier was presumed dead by the end of the war after accumulating an impressive military career,” Tony read off the information as FRIDAY pulled it up in front of him.  “I’m assuming Hydra got their hands on him.”

“I’m detecting vitals,” Banner announced after studying the screen that ran FRIDAYs information for Tony.  “Unless I’m misreading something, Tony?”

Steve froze and shook his head.  This was a bad idea.

“We can’t just open this,” he began before Bucky chimed in. 

“He had to have been a failed experiment,” he stated.  “They probably just thought he’d die and be forgotten after the place was raided.”

“We should help him,” Clint added.  “Everyone deserves a second chance.”

“How do we even know if his cognitive abilities are there?”

Tony was uncharacteristically quiet while FRIDAY analyzed the person. 

“Guys,” he announced amidst the bickering of his teammates.  “ _Guys_.  Pierre Garnier is no man.  This person is female.  _Very much female_.”

When everyone fell silent at the news, Bucky stepped forward and wiped away some of the frost that covered the surface of the capsule.  Inside, the auburn haired woman looked as if she’d just laid down for a peaceful sleep. 

“I say we open it,” Banner decided after the team pondered the news.  “Worst case?  We have our power hitters on the front lines and you take her down.  Best case?  We get some solid information about what happened here.  Or she’s dead and that’s that.”

“I have to agree with Bruce,” Natasha voiced slowly.  “I think the benefits outweigh the risks and I don’t think there’s going to be an easy way of loading that thing onto the jet without risking the dethawing process regardless." 

“I think you all are insane to even be considering this,” Sam piped up.  “I saw we leave it here, call SHIELD and let some experts deal with it.”

“I mean, we’re probably the best experts they have,” Bruce supplied.  Even being hundreds of feet away, Steve could sense the tension building on the jet. 

“Let’s do it,” he decided after he watched Bucky staring at the woman.  “We can take on whatever this person can throw at us.  Buck?  Do the honors?”

Bucky kept his gaze locked on Steve until the soldier gave him a final nod. 

“We’re all idiots,” he vaguely heard Sam mumble through the comm while Bucky searched for the deactivation switch.  Tony had pulled his mask back on and Steve stood ready for whatever was about to come out of the pod. 

There was a huff of frozen air that shot out of the pod toward Bucky while he strained to lift the rusted door of the capsule open.  Steve took a few steps forward out of curiosity and saw the woman still had her eyes shut. 

“She looks like a doll,” Natasha whispered.  Steve agreed with the Russian spy’s assessment.  The woman’s skin was dangerously pale and her auburn hair rested carefully on her shoulders.  Her only garment was a small white slip that resembled an old nightgown. 

“Vitals picking up,” Tony informed the team.  Steve gestured for Bucky to stand back but neither of the men moved from their locations. 

“She’ll probably be disoriented,” Bucky informed the group.  “I always was after an extend time.”

It seemed like the team had collectively held their breath while they waited for signs of life from the frozen woman.  Finally, her hand twitched and Bucky tensed, ready to tackle anything she threw at them.

Her eyes shot open, revealing a hazel gaze that flittered around the room, taking in the scene. 

“ _Where am I_?” the words came out weakly in French.  Her eyes fell on Steve and she shifted in surprise.  “ _Joseph?  You are supposed to be…_ ”

“ _Careful_ ,” Bucky snapped out of his daze when the woman tried to move to suddenly.  He caught her arm before she could fall and was stunned by how cold she still was.  “ _We’re here as friends to help you.  We need to get you to warmth_.”

She closed her eyes and leaned back slightly, toward the pod again. 

“ _Can you walk?_ ” Steve finally spoke up and moved forward to help Bucky with the woman. 

“ _Joseph, did you see the baby?  Was it a boy or a girl?_ ” she questioned in a whisper.  “Am I dead?  I must be, with the devil watching so carefully.”  She’d switched to English, a soft New York accent floating through the room. 

When the men had managed to pull her from the pod, her legs buckled and she crashed into Steve’s chest.  He scooped her up with little trouble and ordered the jet-team to begin mobilizing medical supplies.

“ _I’m so glad you’re safe_ ,” she looked Steve in the eyes and gave a smile before her body fell limp.  He wasn’t sure how he felt about the woman’s false recognition of him- or how she so confidently called him by his father’s name.

* * *

“DNA is showing no match for Pierre Garnier,” Tony reported once the jet was en route back to the States.  “In fact, closest match is for a Kenneth Foster, current CEO of Foster Enterprises and grand-son of the late Jonah Foster.”

“Do we have a date on her?” Banner asked after he checked the woman’s extremities to ensure they had proper circulation.

“ _Old_ ,” Tony gave a short reply before holding up a picture of the Foster family on his computer, circa 1913.

There was a young woman with a darkened dress standing toward the back of the portrait.  Her hair was tightly bundled back and held in place with a ribbon and feathers.  It was a remarkable resemblance, even if the woman on the table was essentially starved, the face and body type fit perfectly.

“Mabel Florence Foster,” Natasha beat Tony to the punch after running the photo through a SHIELD database.  “I thought she was assumed missing?  I think our little _mademoiselle_ decided to take things into her own hands during the global conflict.”

“Like Mulan?” Sam asked incredulously with a snort.  “A woman snuck into the first world war and nobody noticed?”

“ _Somebody_ noticed,” Bucky pointed out, lifting a piece of lace near the woman’s shoulder.  “Her hair is grown out past the standard for that time period for males.  She’s been awake before. "

“We have her sedated, right?” Natasha confirmed with unease when the woman gave a small movement.

“We do, she’s not waking up until she’s situated in New York,” Banner hummed in reply.  He was reading through the live-updates FRIDAY provided on the information from the base and on the history of Mabel Foster and Pierre Garnier.

Toward the back of the plane, Steve sat with his gaze on the floor of the jet.  Bucky noticed his friend’s distant behavior and sat down next to him. 

“Well, we’re practically experts at this now, aren’t we?” he tried to joke but found the words did nothing to stir his companion. 

“How far back does this go?” Steve finally asked.  He looked up at his friend with desperate blue eyes.  “How long has Hydra been playing this game?  How long had they planned for you?  For me?”

Bucky could tell the man was unsettled by the discovery of the woman, and if Tony was correct, she added another twenty or thirty years on the origins of Shmidt and Erskine’s experiments.

It certainly tugged at Bucky, but he knew soon enough they’d have answers- assuming the woman was willing to talk. 

He’d learned over the last few years that answers were not always as clear as they seemed.  It came down to patience. 

“They didn’t dream this stuff up overnight,” Bucky merely commented.  “Everything follows another.  The second war wouldn’t have happened without the first, we have to remember that.” 

* * *

 

**_Somewhere in northern Germany- August 1918_ **

“Get down!” Mabel Foster screamed over the chaos and gunfire.  She managed to drag down Private Marsh into a small crevice between two large trees.  A grenade sounded off not too far away and a large pile of debris flew on top of the pair. 

“Thomas and Meyer were over there,” Marsh whispered.  He shook like a small child who’d had their first nightmare, his eyes wide and terrified.  Mabel had seen that look so many times during the war and knew in her heart that the kid would be a goner if he didn’t pull it together soon. 

“We need to focus on the mission and stop the weapon before its dispatched to their research division,” she reminded the young man, her voice stern and demanding.  It’d been an accident that Mabel, or rather, Sergeant _Pierre Garnier_ , found herself (himself?) in charge of this small unit.  She’d assisted on a few rescue missions and knew her way around a trench raid, but in no way did she consider herself a hero.  She was essentially lying to these people who trusted her with their lives.

Despite the noise and the shouting around them, Marsh gave her a short nod and started to crawl toward their target point.  _Pierre_ stayed a few meters back and shot off anyone who tried to jump in their way.  Luckily it’d only been a small handful of unfortunate German soldiers so alarms were not raised once they slipped past the building’s perimeter. 

“Good work Marsh,” she nodded at her companion who gave her a wearily smile. 

It only took a split second and that smile was etched on his face for eternity.  A German sniper had spotted the pair and shot the young Private through the back of his head. 

Blood spattered on Mabel’s face and she scrambled for a better place to hide, her instincts screaming for her to flee.  Initially she ducked under Marsh’s corpse, waiting until the sniper reloaded, before she slipped behind a cargo truck. 

Her heart pounded in her ears and she quickly counted the number of voices that shouted around her.  Roughly a dozen men. 

She rolled under the truck when a pair of boots began to round around a corner. 

Two security forces.

Two well placed bullets and they dropped- but Mabel had to move due to a unit a few hundred feet away that began to scurry into action. 

She rolled out the other side, and cursed the dust that followed her movements.  A stray shot landed in the ground near her and she leapt behind a corner.  

A quick glance at her gun revealed she did not have enough ammo to take this on alone.  She should have stripped Marsh of his supplies.

She gave a quick prayer that she be forgiven for her lies and deceit; mostly the pain she probably caused her family when she took her old friend’s identity to enlist. 

Mabel was so overwhelmed; she didn’t even have a second to notice the tears pricking at her eyelids.  She jumped out of her hiding spot and took down three men in a smooth movement. 

She used two bullets on one, rendering her gun useless.  She smashed in the nose of a second man with her palm and used the third man’s knife against him with a solid gash across his neck. 

When their bodies dropped she grabbed what she could in munitions and continued her mission.  It was a slim chance, but if she could get to the center of the base…

Pain exploded in the back of her calf and she dropped to the ground.  Mabel swung her body behind a pile of supplies to access the damage and ready herself a counter attack. 

Someone shot her in the leg.

The sniper… she reminded herself bitterly.  She sent a frantic look around the base but couldn’t distinguish anyone from the shadows of the large trees that surrounded the base. 

“Clever soldier,” a voice announced from behind Mabel and before she had a chance to react, he smashed the butt of his gun against the back of her head.

 She saw stars before she hit the ground.  Darkness finally surrounded her and the sounds of death were silenced.  This was it.

_Forgive me father… for I have sinned…_

 

 


	2. Sacred Heart

* * *

  
_**Quand je marche dans la rue, la rue vers le Sacré-Cœur.  Je me souviens des promesses au nom de l'amour.  Je vais t'attendre là. Viendras-tu pour moi?** _

_**(When I walk in the street, the street to Sacred Heart.  I remember the promises in the name of love.  I'll wait for you there.  Will you wait for me?)** _

**-The Civil Wars** _**(Sacred Heart)** _

* * *

 

** French Countryside- Location Classified- Late Spring 1917 **

 

Mabel's unit was due to receive their first batch of American soldiers.  Once the States had entered the war, it had caused quite the ruckus throughout the ranks of Mabel's senior officers.  

They had the advantage now, they argued; it was the German’s folly for tempting the Beast and now the Central powers would pay for their actions.  

“ _Garnier_!” The leader of Mabel's unit snapped at the young officer and she jumped to attention at her name.  As the years had passed, she'd almost forgotten her birth name.  She naturally responded to _Pierre Garnier_ on so many occasions she felt that it'd become a part of her on a biological level.  

“The 107th just arrived,” her Captain explained with a long sigh when she jogged up.  She knew that meant more coordinating and late nights for the older man who barely slept as it was.  “I need you to grab a handful of them and report to the mess for assignment.”  He passed off a list of names that Mabel scanned for any semblance of recognition.  

Jonah was just entering the age where he could potentially be drafted.  It ached Mabel's heart to think that he could be shipped out and murdered just a few feet away from his sister.  

The 107th was New York's reserve after all.

With the list in hand, she hurried off toward the front of the camp to report to the American’s senior officer.  When he introduced himself as Captain Sanders, Mabel had to fight the blush that threatened to spill over her cheeks.  

Sanders had been pursuing Mabel for many years as a potential suitor.  He came from old-money and his father was a retired General from the Civil War who'd worked closely with Mabel's family. 

Fortunately, the worn leader did not recognize the Manhattan heiress in her current disguise.  

“I need Rogers, Marsh, Williams, McDonald, Asher, and Meyer,” she detailed the list and looked up for the small squad of soldiers.  Sanders repeated the names into the crowd of soldiers and a few bright faced young men moved forward.  

“Here's your boys, I recommend you get to it before someone changes their mind,” Sanders gestured to the group and passed them off to the French soldier.  

“We have orders to report to the mess hall for a special assignment,” she announced.  Her low voice that she tried to use when she spoke English broke slightly and a few of the men, McDonald and Meyer, murmured under their breath about French pansies.  

Mabel elected to ignore the comment and marched forward a few feet ahead of the group.  

“They're a bunch of assholes,” a voice commented from Mabel's side.  “I know the crap you've all seen out here and you are much bigger men than these fools.”

“I appreciate that,” she gave him a curt nod and offered her hand.  “Pierre Garnier.”

“Joseph Rogers,” the blonde gave her a firm handshake and smiled.  “When my wife and I left Ireland, didn't think I'd have a chance to see Europe again.”  

He had a slight Irish accent that Mabel had only noticed after he mentioned his origins.  It was subtle; he’d managed to grasp the New Yorker accent well- not that Mabel was going to admit it.

“Are you in the States now?” She inquired, knowing full well he was from New York based off of the little information she knew of him.  But, _Pierre_ wouldn't have necessarily known that.  

“Brooklyn,” he replied with a shrug.  “Got my wife and our soon to be baby settled before shipping out.”

“Congratulations,” Mabel murmured, a pang of sadness hitting her when she realized he'd probably miss the child's birth during his service.

“Thank you,” he gave a grin. “Sarah is wagering it's a boy but I'm positive it's going to be a little girl.  I was the first and only boy in my family.  Us Rogers’ make girls.”  

“I guess we shall wait and see,” she commented with a reassuring smile.  Joseph seemed so kind compared to the cruel and violent world she'd become accustomed to.  

“What about you?  Family around here?” he questioned the soldier.  Mabel knew he was trying to be friendly, but she was so out of touch with normal social practices that the question came out of nowhere. 

 “I have a fiancé in the States,” she replied quickly.  It wasn’t entirely a lie, considering Pierre was her betrothed, but neither party had an interest in following through with the arrangement.  “And a sister back in Paris.” Well, _Pierre_ , had a sister in Paris.

“I’ll make sure we wrap this war up quickly then,” Joseph chortled.  He clapped a hand on Mabel’s shoulder.  “Can’t keep you and your lady away for too much longer.  It’s just _inhumane_.”

“Feels like this war is never going to end,” Mabel grumbled lightly before saluting the waiting soldier outside of the mess. 

“That’s going to be up to you, Garnier,” her superior officer had heard the comment and smirked in her direction.  “You men are some of the best shots in Europe and the powers that be have decided to put their faith in _you_.”

* * *

 “When did it really hit you?” Steve asked Bucky while they watched the frail woman sleeping in the medical bay.  They’d been instructed to wait outside the room while doctors and nurses fretted about. 

“When did _what_ hit me?” the brunette asked, not bothering to look up at his companion.  Instead, he kept a tight blue gaze locked on the woman as her chest slow rose and sank on the sterile bed.

“The reality of what had happened,” Steve clarified.  “Time travel, Hydra, and the general confusion.” 

“Not sure if I’ve fully accepted it, to be honest,” Bucky replied.  He gave a long sigh and narrowed his eyes at a machine showing the woman’s vitals.  For 120-something years old, she was doing pretty well.  Perhaps it was a testament to Hydra’s scientific ability. 

“I get that,” Steve shifted his weight.  “I keep thinking I’ll wake up and be tiny again.”

“Hey, you never know,” Bucky glanced at his friend and allowed a grin.  “We’re all just test subjects right?" 

“I don’t know, if whatever is in _us_ kept _her_ going for 100 years, maybe I’ll never see it happen,” he joked.  Steve gave Bucky a punch and the latter muttered under his breath.

“ _Punk_ ,” he shook his head and continued to stare through the glass.  “Her face- it seems familiar.  But I can’t place it.” 

Admittedly, when Bucky first saw the mysterious woman, he felt that tugging at his memory he hadn’t felt since initially leaving Hydra’s control.  He couldn’t place it.  She never worked with him on missions and she was too young to have been out of freeze for very long to interact significantly with him. 

“Anything bad?” Steve’s voice revealed an air of worry to Bucky’s comment.  “Maybe a sleeper agent?”

“No,” he frowned.  “Nothing like that.  I would have known.” 

He’d been instructed to work with a number of agents from around the world.  Bucky would have definitely remembered her.

“I’m sure we’ll find out then,” Steve nodded toward the med bay where the woman was beginning to stir.  Non-essential staff was ushered out by the lead doctor and Steve was gestured to go inside.  “Wish me luck.”

“ _Don’t die_ ,” Barnes teased in return, helping his friend by opening the glass door for him. 

Steve made his way to a chair by the woman’s beside and waited patiently for her eyes to flutter open.

After she falsely recognized Steve in the Hydra base, it was decided that perhaps he be the one to introduce her to the new world she now resided in.  He definitely had the experience, both personal and professionally helping Bucky. 

Bucky leaned into the glass, wishing more than anything he could hear the conversation that was occurring in front of him.  Steve spoke first, and Bucky could tell the super soldier was talking in hushed and calming tones.  The woman simply sat up in her bed and stared. 

Her eyes trailed around the room, studying the various pieces of equipment and the doctor who stood quietly to the side, before settling on the blonde once again.  Bucky was suddenly thankful for the one-way glass that surrounded the room.

If she was frightened, she didn’t reveal it physically.  Clearly this was a person who had mastered masking their emotions long before this encounter.  Next to Bucky, a psychologist was listening through a headset to what was being said and scribbling down notes.  The former assassin tried his best not to be nosy but caught a few glimpses of what had been written down.

_Hesitant, observant, nervous_

_Nervous_? Bucky did not agree with that assessment one bit.  He knew that look and it wasn’t a nervous one.  If anything, she was prepping an escape or mentally taking in her potential threats before making a decision.  Steve stood up and offered a hand to the woman and she gave it a gentle shake, her eyes still watching him with suspicion and judgement. 

Psychologists were a load of crap anyway- at least in Bucky’s opinion.  They didn’t do anything and honestly caused more trouble than they resolved.  Sure, Steve would probably disagree, but Bucky refused to back down from his stance.

She still hadn’t opened her mouth- choosing instead to listen to the information given to her.  The doctor now stood forward and ran through some clinical information.  Steve was off to the side, occasionally sending the woman a reassuring smile or nod after the doctor said something.  After that, the doctor left the room to just Steve and the woman.

Now it was Bucky’s turn.

When the doctor went into the hallway, she gestured for Bucky to go inside.  Clearly they were happy with the young woman’s progress if he was allowed inside.  Steve was supposed to cover the basics- _Hi, you’re in the future.  I’m from the past too.  Everything is ok, you’re not with Hydra anymore._  Bucky was mainly there for moral support. 

He opened the door and slid inside as quietly as he could.  He didn’t want to rattle her; knowing full well how every sense was tuned to the smallest stimuli after freezing.

“This is James Barnes,” Steve introduced, pushing him a little closer to the woman.  “He was a soldier too, in a different war with me.”

“Hello,” he greeted, suddenly feeling very awkward and clumsy under the woman’s hazel gaze.  It seemed like the color of her eyes had hardened now that she was a little more conscious.

“I remember you,” she simply stated, her expression unchanging and sending a chill down Bucky’s core.  She recognized him as well.  He wasn't crazy.  He tensed, waiting for more information, readying himself to fight.  

“He was in the lab with us when you initially woke up,” Steve tried to interject but she shook her head. 

“No, before this,” she noted, her expression slipping to confusion a brief moment before the mask covered her again.  “You’re _still_ young.”

James was at a loss for words.  He hadn’t encountered a single soul from Hydra who didn’t mean him malicious intent, perhaps he'd forgotten a bitter past?  Maybe she was a sleeper agent he'd encountered briefly during his training? He stood there, his expression souring before Steve intervened with a quick question.

“What do you remember?” he prompted the woman, his hand going to Bucky’s arm to calm the man.  It was probably for the best.  Bucky felt like he was about to make an incredibly stupid decision if left to his own devices.  He kept his mouth shut and let Steve do the talking.  Even if he thought Steve was an idiot for underestimating this woman's past, perhaps violence wasn't the best approach.

“I met you twice,” she continued, her voice growing in strength while she spoke, her body language suggested no anger or resentment, but perhaps she masked it as well as her other thoughts.  “Before and after…” she gestured toward his left arm and frowned.  Was that guilt he detected?  Perplexed, Bucky felt his chest loosen and he grabbed an extra chair from the side of the room, sliding it next to Steve's.  The blonde soldier` took note and sat down next to him, his eyes glancing in Bucky's direction, ready to jump in if needed.  

“They did a- er- something on us-,” she paused trying to find the correct word.  “ _Transfusion sanguine_.”

A blood transfusion, he mentally translated.  From time to time he recalled flashes of his fall from the train; the agony of losing his left arm and the subsequent surgery that followed.

“Your arm was not saved, despite their efforts,” she explained, the hardening in her eyes shifting to pity at the man in front of her.  “The transfusion saved your life I guess.  They said something about a serum.  It was in Russian so I didn’t understand it all.  _I’m sorry_.”

“What happened after that?” Steve tried to pull more information from the woman, but her eyes became distant and she shook her head.  

“I don’t think that’s a story for today, I’m sorry,” she practically whispered the words, her voice hollow and shaking.  _That_ was fear, Bucky realized.  And he was pretty sure he knew why.

“Your name’s Mabel, right?” Bucky finally spoke up and the auburn haired woman looked startled at his sudden question.  She looked as tense as he felt, perhaps she had been reading him while they spoke.  He repeated the name in a softer tone.  “Mabel Foster?”

“No one has said that name in a very long time,” she replied with a weak smile, visibly relaxing.  “But yes, that is the name I was given at birth.” 

The trio fell silent before Steve stood and announced that Mabel needed to get some more sleep before they tried to talk again.  Bucky murmured his agreement before Mabel interrupted their leaving with a small question. 

“You said I’ve been asleep a while,” she looked uncertain a moment, as if she wasn’t interested in the answer to the question but knew she had to ask.  “And you’re still here…” she trailed off when she looked at Bucky.  Her expression lost and distant a moment, they waited for her to continue.  When she jumped back to reality, she finally was able to phrase the question.  “What year is it?”

Steve stumbled over words before Bucky stepped forward and knelt down next to the woman’s bed so he was eye level with her.  He wasn't going to pull the punch.  The sooner she find out, the better.  

“It’s been a hundred years, Mabel,” he stated firmly.  The woman didn’t look surprised, he noted while he waited.  She rustled some of her blankets and repositioned herself on the small hospital mattress.

“I see,” she merely commented.  “Thank you Mr. Barnes, and Mr. Rogers.”

The men could tell that was her way of dismissing them and they quickly parted the room.  When they entered the hallway, the medical staff had all but disappeared.  But Tony and Natasha had made their way to the level and were muttering amongst themselves. 

The lights in the room dimmed when Mabel fell back into her bed.  Before Bucky could catch another look, Tony blacked the glass out, conserving the woman’s privacy for the evening. 

“She knew you,” Natasha stated when the soldiers approached their duo.  “Are we sure she isn’t an agent?”

“I don’t think so,” Bucky insisted.  He ran an anxious hand through his mess of brown hair and shook his head.  “She gave me a blood transfusion.  I think she was a science project for them.”

To his core, Bucky felt sick at the idea of the woman waiting around to be harvested after he returned from missions.  Perhaps it’d been a one-time thing and she’d been the most stable with his serum?  

 _Whatever he needed to sleep at night_... he thought dryly, though he was sure the nightmare would find its way through soon enough.

“We’re still working on the files we gathered from the base,” Tony’s voice brought Bucky out of his daze and he saw that Steve and Natasha were listening intently.  “It was built by a Dr. Krauss toward the middle of World War 1.  Funded by a wealthy beneficiary in the German empire with Hydra ties but that’s all we know right now.  Hopefully when our friend is feeling up to it, she can provide a little insight."

“If we can trust her,” Natasha reminded him coolly.  Of course the red haired spy was careful to believe anything an outsider brought to the table.  She needed all the facts, and if the facts showed anything at this point, this woman was no better than Bucky was at his height of power in Hydra.

“I’ve got nothing but time,” Tony laughed, folding his tablet shut and turning on his heel toward his apartment.

* * *

  **Germany- French held Trenches- Midnight-  July 1917**

 

“She lost the baby,” Joseph whispered to his companion over the hum of explosions and stray gunshots.  “In June, I guess.” 

“Joseph I’m so sorry,” Mabel gave her friend a genuine look of misery for his suffering.  The blonde-haired man leaned up against the muddy trench and frowned.

“I’m supposed to ship back for a week in October,” he continued solemnly.  “Maybe we can give it another try.”

“Yeah,” Mabel agreed quietly, unsure of what else to supply to him.  When her cousin lost her first child, the woman was inconsolable.  What Mabel would do for Joseph to be by his wife’s side during this devastating time...

“Our neighbors are watching her,” he added.  “The Barnes’.  They just had a boy of their own a bit ago.  Sarah said he’s a sweet kid, a quiet baby.  Hopefully that’ll help.  Gee, I don’t know.” 

He gave a bitterly sad laugh.  The pain was echoed through the trench a moment. 

“I was technically right,” he added after a few heartbeats of silence.  “It’d been a girl.  Her name was Maria after Sarah’s mother.  They found her a little plot outside of the cemetery.” 

“That’s good.”

“Yeah,” he agreed softly.  “I’m gonna visit her when I go back.”

“Send my regards,” Mabel replied, she blinked back a few tears that threatened to spill over. 

“Her Uncle Pierre will always be welcomed,” Joseph snickered.  “I’ll make sure Sarah sends some goodies back with me.  We gotta fatten you up.”


	3. Samson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small time jump in this chapter- it's based one week after the last, just so no one is super confused or surprised. 
> 
> Also thank you all for the amazing response to the story! It's been such a blast writing it and I seriously wish I could throw all of it up and get on with it, but alas, my hands only type so fast.

* * *

 

**_“The history books forgot about us, and the bible didn’t mention us...”_ **

**\- Regina Spektor ( _Samson_ )**

 

* * *

 

It’d been a week since Bucky had last seen Mabel.

Stark and the others had been pestering her nonstop ever since her doctor gave the group the all clear.  They had thousands of questions; about the war, about her life, about the experiments Hydra inevitably conducted.  Bucky was fairly certain the woman had probably run out of blood from all of the tests he watched Stark and Banner conducting in their lab. 

He felt bad, knowing exactly what the poor woman was going through.  The medical team had done the same thing to him the minute he’d woken up in Wakanda, and he was willing to wager Steve had gone through the same thing after he was found.

Bucky had been right in that the nightmares that would eventually find him.  Every night since the woman had spoken to him, he’d seen flashes of him smashing a wooden door with his metal hand, a woman’s scream and a flowered country side. 

The last few nights, however, he found that same female voice promising to save him in fast, _desperate_ , French. 

Usually by that point, he forced himself awake and stared at the sterile white ceiling above his bed, thinking through what the vague images meant.  Though he wouldn’t admit it out loud, he was terrified of falling under that hazel gaze again.  He wasn’t sure if it was guilt or fear of repercussions of his past, but he figured evasive action would be the best for the time being. At least until he pulled his mind back together.

Unfortunately, he only heard stories about the woman’s progress from Nat or Steve, as Bucky was too overwhelmed by the fact they’d crossed paths in their dysfunctional pasts.  Though they tried to tell him how well she was improving, or chime up about some story she’d told, he tended to tune out the conversation.  He tried his best to avoid the medical section of the compound, usually making an excuse to train or eat when Steve opted to visit her.

He hadn’t thought about what he was going to do once she was released from the medical bay; how he was going to continue disappearing when she joined them for meals or rec time.

But, Bucky figured he had a lot more time, considering how frail and sickly the woman had looked when he and Steve visited the week before.  She’d be stuck in there for months, he reasoned.  She needed nutrients, medical attention, not to mention all of the debriefings…  _Months.  It had to be months._

Today was another one of those days where he’d slipped away to the kitchen while Steve met up with Stark and Banner.  Steve insisted the night before that Bucky join them, but the brunette soldier shrugged and said that Clint needed help cleaning some of the weapons. 

It was a weak excuse and both of the men knew it, but Steve wasn’t about to press Bucky about.  Especially since it pertained to Hydra.  The blonde super soldier was smarter than that to agitate his friend into such fragile territory. 

Bucky took a large chunk out of an apple and looked up at a nearby clock in the kitchen to see how much longer until Steve returned.  He’d been promised a sparring session and after taking it easy on Clint all week, he was anxious to really stretch his muscles.

“You’ve been avoiding her,” a female voice stated from his side.  Bucky nearly choked on his piece of apple in surprise, not one to be snuck up on.  After a small coughing fit, he whirled around and spied a familiar redhead, standing in the kitchen with her own apple in hand.

“I’ve been busy,” he corrected sharply, his tone more biting than he’d intended. 

“I see,” Natasha kept her gaze on him and took a small bite out of her snack.  “Rogers has been by every day.  You must be a _very_ important person around here to be so busy during our downtime.”

Bucky struggled to find a response, instead listening to the woman allow a light chuckle before parting the kitchen with the soft of click of heels disappearing into the distance. 

* * *

 

**Western Front- September 18 th, 1917**

  

“ _Shit_!” Mabel dropped into the mud, clutching at her side in pain.  She’d been certain the cut she’d received from the German guard the night before had been superficial, so she hadn’t bothered to mention it to her squad after the debriefing.  She was sure she’d be able to snag a few more supplies before her next mission, but fate was a fickle bitch and she was back in the field in less than eight hours.

Tonight, her and Rogers were tasked with an infiltration mission of one of the German held research camps.  Smaller numbers meant higher risks and since the duo were considered the best marksmen in the squad, they’d been chosen unanimously to take out a key leader and steal what they could information-wise. 

Joseph had been a few paces ahead, counting the number of enemies surrounding the small camp.  He glanced over his shoulder to say something to Mabel, when he saw his companion on the ground, rummaging through her uniform to check her wound. 

“Jesus,” Joseph peered over Mabel’s side and allowed a low whistle at the brutal cut.  “You’ve got an infection my friend.”

Mabel shot him a look that said ‘thanks for that’ and proceeded to stuff a few bandages from her med kit into the gaping wound. 

“And we’ve got a mission,” she grunted, holding the mess of bandages down and tying it off around her waist.  She shrugged her uniform jacket back on and stretched slightly to test her range of motion. 

“You’re something else, Garnier,” Rogers chuckled.  “We’ve got about a dozen armed enemies up ahead, two scientists and a ton of paperwork that I’d love to get my hands on.”

Mabel gave him a grin and hefted her gun over her shoulder. 

“Then we can’t keep you waiting.  I know how impatient you are Rogers,” she replied and started forward, despite the sharp pain that ached her body.  Infection or not, they needed to retrieve these documents for the safety of civilians and soldiers alike.

* * *

 

 “Did anyone tell you that the boat sinks in the end?” Bucky teased over Steve’s shoulder, swaggering into the rec room after a long run around the compound.  The blonde hero was deeply engrossed in a dramatic re-telling of the Titanic tragedy that Wanda had begged him to watch for months.

Steve was about to retort when he saw his friend freeze.  Curious, he followed Bucky’s eye line until he found him staring at the back of Mabel’s head. 

After Steve heard her talk about her family business and the cousin she lost during the tragedy, the pair began talking extensively about the discoveries and advances in pop culture made since the sinking. 

One thing led to another and Steve tracked Wanda down to borrow her copy of the worn DVD. 

They’d been sitting there for a little over an hour, Mabel occasionally commenting on the historical accuracy of a costume or meal, while Steve became caught up in the movie’s romantic plotline. 

Mabel mumbled something about the boiler room the on-screen lovers ran through before she looked up at what had caused Steve’s distraction. 

“Bucky, did you want to watch it with us?” Steve offered lightly, sensing his friend’s hesitation.  “It’s actually way better than how Wanda makes it sound-.” Before he could finish, Bucky stormed off toward the team’s residences without another word.  Steve shot Mabel a look, but noticed the woman’s eyes were trailing Bucky out of the room.  

There was clearly some unspoken ground between the pair that would need to be addressed eventually. 

With a sigh and a shrug, Steve returned his attention to the movie just as the iceberg ripped through the side of the large ship.  When he tried to ask her a question, Mabel stayed mostly silent the remainder of the film, only offering enough commentary to get to the point. 

Occasionally, Steve noted, she would glance up toward the hallway with a disappointed frown before her hardened gaze returned to the television. 

* * *

  **Western Front- September 19 th, 1917**

 

Just when the pair was at a safe distance from the raid, they decided to make camp for the night before returning to home base.  It was well past midnight and the duo had taken the research camp completely by surprise.  They’d blended with the surrounding woods and managed to take out all of the foot soldiers and the scientists. 

Some of the research was lost in the fray, but the majority of it- information that detailed mass executions and weapons beyond comprehension- had been saved.

Rogers dropped into the damp soil and kicked a stray log into the small fire they’d made.  He’d been working on organizing the research and storing it away for their journey the next day.  Their commanders would want a thorough debriefing after they returned, considering this was one of the biggest hauls they’d managed since the war began.

The fire crackled into the silent night and Rogers realized he hadn’t seen Garnier in quite some time.  The French soldier had been looking a little worse for wear when they’d settled down for camp, but he chalked it up to nothing a good bath in the river and a night of sleep couldn’t resolve.

After a few moments of deliberation, Joseph opted to look for his friend, just in case the Frenchman had run into trouble while at the river. 

He was completely unprepared to find Garnier on the shore of the river, his uniform jacket discarded and the wound from earlier oozing violently over his undergarments.

* * *

“I’m sorry if I’d misspoken when we met,” Mabel carefully selected her words, unsure of how to address the sordid past the two briefly shared. “I hadn’t thought it through and I just…woke… up…” she trailed off when a pair of blue eyes bore into her miserably. 

It’d taken some time, but Mabel finally found the metal-armed man under a tree at the cusp of the compound’s boundaries.  He’d been there for quite some time, according to the information that Steve drew from the mechanical voice that watched the building. 

Some things would take more time than others to get used to, but Mabel was doing pretty well for herself.  Considering anyone else would have had a meltdown.  She’d learned long ago to try and roll with the punches. 

And not look up anyone specific from her past in the war.  Not _yet_ anyway. 

“Do you remember what year it was that you escaped?” he finally questioned after a wave of silence crash over them.  Mabel took a small step forward and sat under the tree’s shade a well.  She made a mental note to keep a comfortable distance between them after seeing his rigid body language at her movement.

“You remember,” she noted quietly.  She knew it’d be a matter of time, the man who had met her a week prior had long escaped the control of those wicked scientists and madmen.  His eyes were clearer, and he just looked healthier than when she’d last seen him. 

Though, to be fair, the last time she’d seen him; he was being prepped for a memory wipe and she was being sedated after biting a guard’s arm. 

“There’s not a lot of details there,” he admitted, his attention falling toward the field in front of them.  “They were very thorough on the wipes.  But I remember you running and being ordered to find you." 

Mabel nodded, the memory of the morning she’d made her escape still fresh in her mind.  It’d barely even been a few weeks that had passed for her, the chill of the pod still crept over her from time to time. 

“1954.  I’d gotten to a village outside of Paris, I was _days_ ahead of you,” she explained, picking at a few strand of grass that poked out by her shoes.  “Got my hands on some brown hair dye-,” she idly picked up a strand of her hair and sighed.  “I wasn’t Pierre, I wasn’t _Mabel_ , I wasn’t anyone for a moment, but the _Soldat d’Hiver_ had no problem tracking me down.  Perhaps it was my mistake for underestimating the weapons they were creating.”

The name made her companion tense.  He picked up a small pebble and tossed it a few hundred feet away.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he finally voiced, his tone meeker than Mabel had heard.

“Of course not,” she replied, her eyes trailing to the horizon.  “We were equally valuable assets at the time.  They needed- they needed their pet project and their soldier to be unstoppable.  I tried to talk you out of it, and I thought for a second that I’d gotten to you.” 

She gave a bitter laugh and threw aside a ripped piece of grass.  

She could feel the man move and his attention shift to her. 

“You told me your name,” she explained.  “It was like you knew you had to follow orders, and yet your conscious was still trying to break through.  I wish I’d known the extent of their…” she struggled to find the right word.

“ _Brainwashing_ ,” Bucky supplied and she nodded. 

“They had serums and potions and spells and doctors who could say a word to trigger violence,” Mabel was picking at her hands with her nails, the anxiety of the memories finally settling in her stomach.  Perhaps this was why they didn’t let her go unattended for too long?  Finally, her nails found blood.  They were waiting for her to snap. 

But instead of hesitation, Mabel finally found a glimpse of warmth in the man’s gaze.

“How bad was it?” he voiced, looking away for the sake of Mabel’s dignity.  She leaned up against the tree, just at an angle to him and picked at the dirt; an attempt to save her skin from being covered in cuts.

“I still remember you, don’t I?” she tried to joke but the words fell to the ground flatly.  “They had their experiments and their tests.  Sometimes there were others, sometimes there wasn’t.  I lived, and they didn’t.  Until you came along- the soldier with the missing arm.  You screamed most of the surgery and when you woke, I tried to talk to you.”

Bucky didn’t move and waited for her to continue. 

“You saw the blood and started to shout again,” she allowed a small smile at the memory.  The man had been screaming profanities at the doctors and scientists that had captured them.  It was one of the few flashes of his humanity she knew. 

He’d promised to get them out of there while they were both being sedated by doctors.  “You promised to find me again.  It was _very_ chivalrous.”

“Didn’t keep my promise though,” he grumbled, running a hand through messy brunette hair. 

“I didn’t keep mine either, not that you’d remember,” she looked at her hand and saw that the cut she’d made had already healed up; before the blood had even dried on her fingertips.  “I don’t even remember much, to be honest.”

That got his full attention.

“They wiped you?” Mabel could feel him study her expression before she spoke. 

“Had to make sure it was safe for you,” she mumbled.  “It happened twice, but I got my bearings back.  I _think_.  I know who I am.  Or who I _was_.”

“So who are you?” James asked up, a hint of amusement in his tone at the question.  Mabel turned and looked him square in the eye; a smirk playing on her normally masked face.

“I’m Mabel Florence Foster,” she replied.  “Millionaire, heiress, socialite, and the best damn sniper in Europe.”

Laughter erupted from her companion, an unsettlingly, but surprisingly joyous noise.  He actually threw his head back at the comment. 

“We’ll see about that darling,” he stood up and dusted off his pants, offering a hand to help her up.  “Might be a little shaky after your nap.”

And for the first time in a hundred years, Mabel Foster laughed.

* * *

 

**Western Front- September 19 th, 1917**

  

“ _Kid_ ,” Joseph shook the French officer awake.  His eyes rolled over and he murmured something in English.  It took Rogers a minute to realize the younger man was trying to assure him that he was fine. 

“Just- _Sleep_ …” Garnier whispered, his eyes fluttering shut.  Joseph went to shake his shoulder again and realized how hot the man’s skin was. 

This wasn’t good, he noted that the infection had spread viciously up his friend’s abdomen.  The angry looking flesh oozing pus and blood and clots; Garnier stood a snowball’s chance in hell.

“We need to get you cleaned up,” Rogers decided, trying to think through what his wife would do in the situation.  She always stressed that a wound needed a clean work space, otherwise everything would get mucked up by blood and dirt. 

He helped his friend toward the river, the other man still rambling between French and English.  He called out for someone named Jonah and his mother before begging a ‘Pierre’ to forgive him.

“Come on Garnier,” Rogers urged, trying to pull the soldier’s top shirt off.  The man reacted quickly, considering his dizzied state.  He clutched at the shirt, whispering that he couldn’t remove it.  “You’re going to die if we don’t get that wound cleaned up.”

“I’m going to die anyway,” the soldier murmured sourly.  He seemed to hesitant a moment, his hazel gaze watching Joseph in the calm river.  “Can you make me a promise?”

“Of course,” Joseph knelt by his friend, trying not to notice the blood that was flowing freely into the water around them. 

“Tell my family about me,” his voice cracked at the simple sentence.

“You’re going to get through this,” Joseph assured his friend with a gentle nudge.  He dug through Garnier’s uniform jacket for extra bandages and hefted the man back to the river bank. 

“No,” Garnier insisted.  “Tell them that _Mabel_ fought for them.  That I didn’t run away.”

Joseph paused at this, his hands covered in the soldier’s fresh blood. 

“Mabel?” he asked, pressing down on the wound.  Since he was able to clean it, the irritation had already begun to die down slightly.  “Who’s Mabel?  Your fiancé?”

“My fiancé is Pierre Garnier,” the soldier’s voice dropped and Rogers could hear the slightest New York accent.  “I’m Mabel.  I’m Mabel Foster.”

“Of the _Manhattan_ Fosters?” Rogers stared at his companion, his hands slipping and the Irishman letting out a small curse.  “ _Shit_ , sorry." 

“I lied to everyone,” Mabel lamented quietly, in the moonlight Joseph could see a small tear trailing down her cheek. 

“You probably saved more lives than most of the men we’ve encountered _combined_ ,” Joseph pointed out, still processing that he was pressing into the side of a woman. 

“Promise me you’ll tell my family,” she insisted again, trying to sit up.  Joseph pushed her shoulder into the ground and shook his head. 

“I’m not telling anyone anything, ‘cause you’re not gonna die and we’re gonna get the information back to base and move on,” he replied sternly.  “All right?”

“ _Fine_ ,” she breathed, her head falling back and her eyes shutting.

“Oh no you don’t,” Joseph splashed some water on her face and her eyes snapped open.  “You don’t get to sleep until I get to sleep.”  He knew she’d lost a lot of blood and if she fell asleep, half of his battle would be lost.  “Tell me why in the hell you thought it’d be a good idea to sneak out here instead of sewing socks or making blankets." 

Mabel cracked a grin at the comment, her eyes staring up at the star-filled sky.  

“’m terrible at sewing,” she replied.  “Better at shooting, or so _Papa_ always said.”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of information this chapter! 
> 
> Let me know what you think/thought! I love hearing your thoughts and comments! Don't forget to drop a kudos or bookmark the story for future reference if you liked it! 
> 
> <3


	4. Something Just Like This

**_“But she said, where’d you wanna go?  How much you wanna risk?”_ **

**_–_ Coldplay _(Something Just Like This)_**

* * *

Bucky wasn’t even sure how all of this ended up happening.

Someone suggested that exercise would be good for the adaption process and he found himself being assigned to run with her.  It’d only been a handful of days since their conversation outside the compound, and he had spoken with her maybe twice since then.

Mabel had been fairly insistent on exploring the woods surrounding the large compound, but Bucky now stood in the middle of the forest with Mabel _howling_ to the gods above.

Somehow Hydra had been brought up during their run, and she stopped to kick a tree in frustration.  One thing led to another and she was practically screaming at the top of her lungs. It started as frustration and turned into something that Bucky didn't even have a name for.

Mabel let out a long drawn out shout.  It echoed through the trees and floated down the pathway. 

She gave a spin, screaming until the air ran out of her lungs and the nearby birds scattered in fear. 

“That felt wonderful,” she looked to Bucky with her eyes wide.  It was like every tension and stress that had been weighing her down was released.  “You should try it, it really helps things settle."

“I’m not sure about-,” he started, but she shook her head and shrugged. 

“Oh don’t give me that,” she replied with a small eye roll.  “You’ve got just as many demons as I do, Mr. Barnes.” 

He looked at her hesitantly before he gave a quick shout.  It almost resembled the yelp of a small animal- it was much weaker than the screech Mabel had unleashed moments before. 

Bucky was certain that second he shouted, it wouldn’t stop.

A few squirrels scrambled up a nearby tree, but aside from that, the forest remained tranquil. 

“ _Pathetic_ ,” was Mabel’s simple comment before she continued up the path for their hike, clearly unimpressed with his attempt to appease her. 

Bucky jogged up to her, a determined frown set into his features. 

She barely knew the guy, but boy did Mabel Foster know ways to get under his skin.  Maybe it was all of those years being in command of punks like him?

“Ok, wait,” he held a hand up before releasing a longer shout.  He pulled the sound from the bottom of his lungs and felt it vibrate through the woods. 

Mabel was grinning, her energy sparking, before she joined him in a long wail. 

He wasn’t sure how long the two of them spent screaming to the heavens, but admittedly, Bucky felt significantly better.

There was something almost intimate about allowing the pain loose in the isolation of the woods. 

Gasping for breath, the pair took a seat on the forest floor, laughing between breaths.  

“See?” Mabel nodded at her friend.  “You _look_ better.” 

Bucky wasn’t sure about that, but he did feel better, and that’s really all that mattered on this little hike. 

“Thanks,” he finally breathed, offering a smile in her direction. 

“You should listen to your elders next time Mr. Barnes,” she taunted lightly before poking him softly in the chest.  She stood and dusted the forest’s debris from her shorts before glancing around the canopy.  

He hopped up, jumping after her in a short jog. 

“ _Bucky_ ,” he stated firmly.  “I told you to call me Bucky.  And I’m pretty sure I’m biologically older than you.  What year were you born?”

“Did your mother not teach you manners?” she mocked offense and folded her arms across her chest.  “I’m astounded that you would ask a woman her age, _Mr. Barnes_.”

 _Yikes_ , he thought in a panic, trying to recover from the social faux-pa. 

He really did know better; for example, he never asked Wanda or Natasha.  But he figured that he, Steve and Mabel were their own special cases when it came to age. 

“You look like I’m about to give you a whipping,” she laughed jogging ahead a few feet, looking over her shoulder at the super soldier she left behind.  “Develop a sense of humor, Mr. Barnes.”  

For the life of him, Bucky had no idea how to interact with Mabel Foster.  On the one hand, he knew she was hiding a plethora of time bombs under her surface.  But on the other hand, she was hiding it significantly better than he would have.

On top of that, he had so many questions he wanted to ask- about Hydra, her past, the war and Manhattan during the early 1900’s.  It was like she was an alien amongst them, so familiar and yet so foreign to this world.  He’d been disoriented waking up throughout history and that only spanned a few decades; he couldn’t imagine opening his eyes up 100 years in the future. 

“Just so you know, I am winning,” Mabel shouted from a distance.  Stark and Bruce had mentioned some of the effects of her experimentation- certain enhanced abilities, additional strength and speed, and a healing factor that surpassed even him and Steve. 

The scientists chalked it up to her body’s increase in estrogen compared to the two men, though they’d have to run more tests between the three to really find the key. 

Bucky started jogging after her, not wanting to lose on their first outing into the woods, when he lost sight of her. 

Instead, he heard a shout of surprise in the distance.  Short- startled and cut off quickly- Mabel wasn’t releasing a locked down tension this time. 

Fearing the worst, he sprinted toward it, catching himself before he slid off of the edge of a small cliff that overhang a large lake.  Looking down, he could see Mabel laughing in the water below.  She clearly lost her footing and fell in during her gloating.

“Jump!  It’s barely even that cold,” Mabel insisted from the lake, splashing down in the water.  “I promise there aren’t any sharks." 

It was a laudable notion, that either of them would fear something as gentle as a shark compared to the monster that was Hydra.

He paused, looking down and studying the depths of the water.  It wasn’t shallow, so clearly the heiress had gotten lucky with her fall.  Taking a breath and a running start, he leapt off of the small cliff into the water, crashing down next to his fellow soldier. 

The November weather had certainly taken an effect on the water, as the chill bit at him the moment he made contact.  Thankfully, his heightened metabolism kicked in and warmed him as he moved. 

Fully clothed and swimming in the lake felt like something out of the movies that Wanda made him watch with her.  He dove below the surface, opening his eyes and finding the water was relatively clear.  Mabel soon joined him and they explored the underwater world until they were forced to resurface for air. 

“It’s so peaceful,” she murmured when they stilled in the water, floating on the surface and allowing the current to move them.  “Mr. Stark said the city is much louder now.  I find that hard to believe, steam engines are severely under exaggerated today.  They were ear-splitting." 

“New York is definitely different,” Bucky rolled onto his back and looked up at the blue sky.  The sun was setting sooner and the weather was beginning to shift in upstate New York.  It’d be sooner, rather than later, when the team would reorganize in Manhattan.  “It’ll take some time, but home is home, ya know?”

“Is it still home after 104 years?” she quietly asked, her voice cracking with the question.  “Or is it just a memory?” 

“Don’t fool yourself, it’s home.  I promise,” he rolled forward to reiterate his point. 

“I’ll be holding you to that, Mr. Barnes,” she laughed lightly before a visible chill shot through her.  “We should probably head back before we catch our deaths.” 

 _Unlikely_ , a voice chimed in silently, but Bucky nodded his agreement and helped her swim toward the nearest shoreline. 

Between the two of them, they were able to get back to the compound faster than when they’d left.  Bucky was fairly certain that the pair of them had impressive survival skills.  A sick part of him wanted to test how severe of conditions they’d be able to thrive in.  The more rational part of him reminded Bucky how screwed up a thought that was.

* * *

 

“Dr. Krauss pops up a few times in the SHIELD archives,” Tony passed off a folder to Steve, flipping open the first page and pointing to a few excerpts after the former had called a quick meeting in his office.  “You have him to thank for your serum, actually.  Well him and my father, but I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of _that_.”

“It’s not like you remind me every time it comes up,” Steve relented with an arched brow.  “This is all in German.”

“Very observant,” Tony held up his phone over the words and they quickly translated across the screen.  “We do have the technology to resolve that.”

Steve skimmed over the paragraphs of information, trying to pull a general idea of what the notes suggested.  It was gruesome hypothesis on how to create the ‘perfect’ human.

“Good lord,” he muttered after finishing the page.  “That’s barbaric even by that era’s standards.”

Tony closed the folder and nodded in agreement.  

“That’s not even the cherry on top, wait until you read about the specifics pertaining to Miss Foster that we came across.  They pulled no punches because of her gender.  I’m glad you’re having Barnes keep an eye on her this week.  It could end ugly if she snaps or is triggered somehow,” he passed a second folder to Steve and the soldier opened it immediately.  The vast majority of it was written in English, with a few Russian phrases that Stark was quick to translate for him. 

“Can I keep this for the night?” he asked the brown-haired genius. 

“That’s why I made copies,” Tony patted the pile of paperwork on his desk.  “Just keep it out of sight.  I’m going to wager your buddy Bucky might not be too keen on it either.”

The message was received loud and clear to Steve, especially after reading the first few sentences of the notes. 

“I’ll keep this to myself,” he assured his friend.

* * *

 

** Manhattan, New York, NY- October 12th, 1914 **

 

 _“He’s passed on my darling.”_ Her mother took a long sip from her porcelain cup.  “Something about a robbery near Brooklyn.  What a shame, you were fond of him weren’t you?”

Of course Mabel was fond of him. 

How many nights did Samuel O’Brien and Mabel spend on the rooftops planning their escape?  She knew the name of their future children more intimately than the members of her family and planned on living in a blue house outside of Indiana with him by 1915.  That was the plan. 

Sam wouldn’t go and change the plan.  Not Sam, never Sam.  He was the only thing she had left to keep her sane after her father’s death.  Without Sam…

Mabel swallowed down a sob.

They had a _plan_.

“ _No_.” Mabel dropped her teacup to the floor.  The news pierced her heart like a sharpened knife, yet her mother looked so calm at the revelation.  A nearby maid scrambled to pick up the shards while Mabel sank to the floor in stunned silence.

“Mabel, compose yourself,” her mother murmured under her breath.  Pierre was lightly tugging at Mabel’s elbow, the woman shaking under his touch.  She didn’t even know how to process this information.  Certainly it’d been some time since she’d last seen her lover; with the news of her father and the planning of his funeral- but dead?  Not Samuel.  He was the epitome of light and life- a spark that would never be dulled. 

“ _You’re lying_ ,” she whispered sharply, tugging her arm away from the Frenchman, stumping back to her feet.  “You’re lying to me." 

“Mabel, perhaps we should go somewhere-,” Pierre began but Mabel stood looking between him and her mother.  The two maids on the side of the tea lounge stared in gross curiosity and embarrassment for the young woman- or perhaps it was pity? 

“How long have you known?” she narrowed her gaze at the socialite.  She took a step forward, only to be held back by Pierre’s grip.  “How _long_!?” she hissed the words, sending a visible chill through her mother. 

“A week,” Elizabeth Foster’s expression fell sour at her daughter’s outburst and she was struggling to maintain composure with the short answer.  “It would have been poor press for you to go wandering around with those Irishmen all night, especially considering your father-”

“ _My father_?” Mabel practically spat the words and the room froze.  Any semblance of poise or compassion had long disappeared.  “My father _liked_ Samuel, he was going to give us his blessing when he returned from Europe.”

“But he _didn’t_ ,” her mother’s voice shot up an octave.  “So you _will_ listen to me, or so help me Mabel…”

“Or what?” Mabel squared her shoulders back and sized the older Foster over.  “You’ll give me a whipping in the square?  Your threats mean nothing to me.  _You_ mean nothing to me, you bitter, _cruel_ woman.” 

“Mabel!” her mother let out a gasp and tried to call out to her irate daughter, but Mabel had long parted the lounge, Pierre a few steps behind her. 

Samuel was gone.  Samuel O’Brien was gone from this mortal world and Mabel didn’t even get to say goodbye.  

Distantly, she could hear Pierre calling her name behind her, but Mabel was focused on one thing- she needed to get to Samuel’s flat. 

Surely his family could provide answers to her, how many times had she joined them for a family meal or celebration? 

Certainly _they’d_ be more compassionate about the news- they ached and grieved as much as she was. 

“Mabel,” Pierre stood in the doorway of Mabel’s room, his arms folded across his chest.  “It’s getting dark.  I’m not going to let you go out by yourself.”

Her oldest friend, always able to read her mind before she made a terrible choice.

“That is not a decision you get to make Pierre,” she replied, digging through her wardrobe for a warm cloak.  The October weather was just beginning to bit and despite the numbness that radiated through her, she had no intention of getting frostbite. 

“Let me come with you,” he offered after a tense silence between the friends. 

Mabel stood in the middle of her room, frozen, at the offer.

“Mother will be-,” she began but Pierre shook his head and held a hand up. 

“Frankly, I don’t give a damn about your mother,” he replied before grabbing a nearby scarf and wrapping it around Mabel’s neck.  “I need you safe.  If I can’t make you happy, safe is the next best thing.”

Mabel clutched at the red scarf and bit her bottom lip, trying to fight back the tears that had threatened to pour over.  She quickly lost that battle; a small tear tracing an outline of her cheek, only to be wiped away by Pierre’s thumb. 

 _“Thank you,”_ she whispered, reaching for a clutch on her bed and tightening her cloak around her shoulders.  “You grab your coat; I’ll make sure the carriage is ready.”

“As you wish,” the red haired man gave her a forced smile before parting down the hallway. 

* * *

“No, you press _this_ ,” Tony pointed toward the mouse and pressed Mabel’s finger down.  The screen lit to life and the centenarian frowned in concentration.

“You’d think this would be easier to catch onto,” she murmured in frustration before hesitantly typing a name into the search bar.  At least she knew her way around a keyboard, Tony mused internally. 

After meeting with Steve, he found that Barnes and Mabel had returned from their jog.  He hadn’t expected to find the pair drenching wet on a relatively dry day in November.  The pair was elusive in their responses and disappeared into their respective living areas. 

After she’d dried off, Mabel sought him out and asked if he could continue some of the lessons he’d been teaching her on the computer system.

“I think some people catch on faster than others.  Barnes was practically hacking into the government within a week, while Steve barely can send a text message today,” he explained watching over her shoulder.  Given enough time, he was sure she’d catch on.  He had a slew of lessons for her about the world from 1918 onward, and they all required the use of the computer.

“Old boyfriend?” he questioned casually when he saw the name typed in the field. 

Today, Tony had suggested that Mabel begin the process of looking up those from her past, or at least key elements of the past that she’d lived through.  It was the first step in a long integration process to get her acclimated to the 21st century.

 “Something like that,” Mabel replied non-committedly.  She pressed the ‘enter’ key and watched the screen while it loaded. 

A census record, a birth certificate, a death certificate, and a high school graduation list. 

That’s all that history had left of Samuel O’Brien; the name she’d carefully typed into the computer. 

“He die in the war?” Tony shifted a little closer to the woman and she shrugged.  

“Not necessarily _the_ war, maybe _a war_ , depending how you look at it,” she closed the window on the computer and set the genius a polite smile.  “Thank you for your time, Mr. Stark.” 

Normally she was a little more engaged in the lesson.  Something had obviously rattled the seemingly unshakable Mabel Foster. 

When the woman was gone from sight, Tony pulled up the file, plopping down in the office chair that Mabel previously occupied.  This was his first lead on something about the woman’s life outside of military documentation or newspaper clippings.  

While she’d been more than helpful in trying to recall information for Hydra, he realized that even after a week or so, he knew nothing about her. 

No one did really, and that included the family she left behind in 1914.

Samuel O’Brien, immigrated to the US as an infant from Ireland.  Surprisingly, the kid grew up only a few blocks away from where Rogers and Barnes would eventually live.  

It wasn’t exactly the neighborhood that one of the wealthiest families in America would have frequented at the time.  He clicked on the death certificate and frowned. 

 **October 2 nd, 1914**\- if his math was right (and it always was) that was roughly two weeks after Maxwell Foster was killed in the U-Boat incident, and three weeks before Mabel allegedly jumped the ship to Paris.  

Suddenly the young woman’s motivations to disappear seemed clear. 

The coroner attached a small examination note to the death certificate, indicating that the boy died of significant bleeding at the age of 26.  A stabbing. 

“FRIDAY, run newspaper articles, early October 1914, in Brooklyn for a stabbing,” Tony ordered the AI.  A series of newspaper headlines flashed across the screen in front of him; mostly indicating the presence of war in Europe, or celebrity gossip.  Eventually, he found a small clipping that mentioned an unnamed boy’s murder in the shipping district.

Wrong place at the wrong time, the article indicated.  The boy had been working on a dock and someone decided it was a good time to rob it.  Samuel got in the way and was gone in minutes.  A blink of an eye and history was changed forever.

There was nothing else aside from a few sentence blurb in the crime section.  No obituary, no memorial; _nothing_ for the faceless immigrant boy that disappeared into history. 

From what Tony could gather, Samuel O’Brien was the reason all of them were sitting in the tower today.  Mabel would eventually run off to Europe, get captured by Hydra and become their initial Winter Soldier project, Bucky would be captured and ‘perfected’, Steve would transform and the world would continue to spin.  Regimes would fall, people would die and good would go after evil. 

But Samuel O’Brien triggered it all.  Without Mabel, Hydra wouldn’t have reached their levels of success in the second world war.  Without Mabel, the super soldier serum wouldn’t have been found and toyed with by the SSR.  If she’d simply married Garnier and moved on with her life, there was no telling where the world would have been today.

* * *

 

Mabel decided to hole herself up on a small sofa tucked away from the more popular common area.  It was essentially barred off by three walls, one of which contained a fireplace.  At some point, she’d lazily grabbed a book off a shelf while she passed, so she opened it to the first page and settled in. 

She’d been so distracted by the plot of the story that she didn’t hear James peering over her shoulder. 

“I haven’t read that one yet,” he stated, causing the young woman to jump in surprise.  She dropped her book on the floor and scrambled to pick it back up.  “I didn’t mean to scare you, sorry.”

“Who said you scared me?” she retorted back with an arched brow.  She folded her book closed in her lap and turned her full attention to him.  She was surprised at how quickly he’d managed to shower and change after their excursion, but soon realized it’d been a few hours since they’d last seen each other.  “So to what do I owe this visit, Mr. Barnes?  Are you ready for another run?”

“It’s _Bucky_ ,” he quickly corrected but Mabel kept her focus on him, waiting for an explanation of his sudden appearance.  “The book, is it good?”

She looked down at the worn novel in her lap and ran a finger over the title _‘To Kill a Mockingbird.’_  

“It’s different from the prose I’m familiar with,” she admitted quietly.  “Though I suppose the issues are still the same.” 

The man gave a small nod and stood awkwardly behind her before speaking again. 

“Have you been reading up on history?  Stark mentioned something about it yesterday,” he looked flustered, Mabel realized with amusement.  As if he had no idea what space to fill or what he was doing. 

Perhaps he didn’t have a reason to visit her. 

“Do you need help er, with it?” 

“Perhaps you have a time machine?  I have a few suggestions on how this century _should_ have panned out,” she joked dryly, earning a look from him.  Perhaps that was the wrong joke, considering the impact the pair of them had into modern times.  

“It’s ridiculous that this was still an issue into the late 20th century.”  She decided to change the subject and Bucky loosened significantly.  He moved a little closer, repositioning himself on the other side of the sofa and lifting the book to examine the copyright date. 

“It’s actually still a bit of an issue today,” he informed the woman.  She openly gaped.  Impossible.  Mankind was not that brutal.  “There’s some good and there’s some bad.  We’re all human, after all.”

“I was promised floating cities and flying cars,” Mabel shook her head in disappointment.  “I’ve worked my way through the highlights of the early 1960’s, does it get worse?”

“Highs and lows,” he replied vaguely.  Mabel didn’t like the sound of that.  “We make it to the moon, and then nearly start World War III.”

“ _Charming_ ,” Mabel sighed.  She picked up the book and flipped it in her hands, debating her next thought carefully.  “I’m not very far in the novel.  I wouldn’t mind starting over again if you’d like me to read out loud.”  She wasn’t even sure she wanted the company- her heart still aching over Samuel.

“I didn’t realize people still did that,” he chuckled.  “Seems a little old-fashioned." 

“Perhaps I was just born in the wrong era,” Mabel added.  “I’m a little rusty, but I’d be more than happy to-”

“It sounds wonderful,” Bucky positioned himself on the floor, grabbing a few pillows from a nearby chair and settling near the fireplace.  He looked up at her expectantly, waiting for her to get started.

It was a cozy scene, Mabel mused.  For a moment, she could almost imagine herself reading to Pierre on cold winter nights, or Jonah when he had his nightmares.  Perhaps he didn’t even realize it, that he’d brought them back in time for just a moment. 

It was exactly what Mabel’s tired soul needed for the evening.  Opening the first page she cleared her throat and began to read.

 

“ _When he was thirteen, my brother Jem got his arm badly broken at the elbow.”_

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! This one was a doozy! I've been working on it all week and it ended up being around 11 pages in a Word document. 
> 
> A bit of jumping around, and I apologize. The next chapter is going to go back in time for both Bucky and Mabel. 
> 
> Let me know what you think! <3


	5. Liability

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't have time to really go through and edit this- I wanted to get it out before I had to work this week. 
> 
> Apologizes if anything is really off! 
> 
> Enjoy!

 

**_“You’re a liability.  You’re a little much for me.  So they pull back, make other plans.  I understand I’m a liability.”_ **

**_–_ Lorde _(Liability)_**

 

* * *

** Central Park- Manhattan, New York, NY- May 1940 **

  

“Ah forget them,” Bucky threw a rock across the walkway.  A few passersby glanced up at the distraction and shuffled along.  The boys had been stood up for a date that Bucky was positive would have turned out well for Steve.  The girl was shy, sweet and sharp minded; the perfect match for his less than lucky friend. 

But apparently she had _other_ plans in mind for the evening.

“I’m used to it by now, Buck,” Steve shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets.  “I should probably get going though, I promised Ma that I’d grab some medicine for her.”

“She said she didn’t need it until later,” Bucky reminded him, rustling the blonde hair on his friend.  “You should really take a break and relax for a bit.”

“But she’s-,” he began to argue but his larger friend held up a hand. 

“She always made sure I rested and relaxed when taking care of you, someone needs to do the same thing for you,” he reasoned sharply.  He hopped off of the park bench and scanned the surrounding area.  “I think I saw some hotdogs a little bit over.  My treat.” 

“I can afford a hot dog,” Steve insisted with a scowl, but reluctantly followed after his friend. 

“Sure you can Stevie,” Bucky smirked.  “But I got paid today and lord is it burning a hole in my pocket.”

“I’m getting two,” the blue eyed young man grinned and Bucky punched him in the shoulder playfully.

“For a little guy, you sure eat a lot,” he snorted, twirling on his heel to grin at a passing group of girls. 

“I gotta keep my energy up to deal with you,” Steve shoved his friend along the pathway until the young women were out of sight.  “You’re exhausting.”

“And you’re a rude punk,” Bucky practically whined.  “You gotta learn to relax and have a little fun, Rogers.   The girls can tell.”

“Girls are the last thing on my mind,” Steve mumbled while the duo stood in line at a hot dog vendor.  “Well, maybe not the _last_ thing, but they’re pretty close to the bottom."

“They can sense it,” Bucky pointed to his forehead and shifted to a serious frown.  “Some kind of mind reading or something.  They know.” 

“They don’t know anything, I think you’ve been reading too many of those science fiction pulps,” Steve snorted before gesturing for his friend to pay for their food.  “You _did_ insist on paying, didn’t you Buck?”

Bucky snorted and shook his head, taking a large bite out of his snack.  The sun was beginning to set on the park while the boys wandered the paths aimlessly.  Eventually they found themselves in the Sheep Meadow. 

“Shame they got rid of the sheep,” Steve sighed with a frown.  “Would have been neat to see them.”

“Of course you’d get weepy about some sheep,” Bucky teased.  Steve didn’t reply, instead dropping down in the soft grass on the hill. 

“It’s good to feel things sometimes, Buck,” Steve reminded him quietly.  “Even if it means getting weepy about sheep.”

Bucky leaned back into the grass next to his friend.  They stared up at the violet sunset in silence. 

“You ever think about where you’ll be in ten years?” Bucky asked his friend in all seriousness.  Steve shifted slightly before speaking. 

“I’ve always assumed I’d croak it,” Steve replied dryly.  “Though a wife and family would be nice.”

“You’re too damn stubborn to die and we both know it,” Bucky pointed out.  Steve laughed at the comment, shaking his head through the chuckles. 

“You got me there,” he relented.  “What about you?” 

“All the time,” he murmured.  “I wonder what my girl will be wearing when we fall in love.  What color her eyes will be…”

“Who’s getting weepy now?” Steve teased with a small punch toward Bucky.  The brunette allowed a laugh, but continued looking up at the first few stars of the night in silence.

“Yeah, I’m just secretly a huge sap,” Bucky laughed before hopping back to his feet and turning to his friend.  “Race you to the other side.”

And like always, Bucky would hold back while his friend wheezed through the steps.  And like always, he paid their subway fare back to Brooklyn.

* * *

Natasha had explained to Mabel that there were ways to get the brown color out of her hair aside from waiting for it to grow out. 

This conversation arose after she caught the younger woman digging at the blonde roots of her hair and frowning in the bathroom mirror. 

Needless to say, Mabel was ecstatic to go back to her natural blonde hair color.  The darkened hair had been thrown together in a panic and left a bitter reminder to her of what the past had held for her.  She was finally ready to accept the future and who she was, and that meant getting back to basics. 

Wanda arranged for the stylist to come to the compound, apparently there was still a bit of apprehension in letting her back into society.  Mabel didn’t mind though. 

She wasn’t sure herself if she wanted to go back.

The process was something else entirely.  Hairstylists today were basically chemists compared to the older women who carted around bows and hair fixtures in her day.  Natasha tried her best to explain the process each step of the way, but eventually was distracted by a topic of interest by Wanda. 

Mabel listened to the two women chatting and closed her eyes while the stylist washed the bleach (which Mabel quickly learned, was _not_ the cleaning product) out of her hair.  The movements were so soft and gentle that she didn’t even realize she’d fallen asleep. 

That was until she was tackled against a wall, a solid metal object hitting the floor with a clank.  

Blinking in confusion, she looked around at the women.  The stylist had finished packing her supplies and stood in horror at the entrance of room.  Natasha had her hand pressed against Mabel’s wrist and an elbow in the crease of her neck. 

When she looked at what she’d dropped, she realized that she’d grabbed a decorative metal figure off of the shelf near where Natasha and Wanda had been sitting.

Wanda was trying to usher the stylist out, while Natasha was trying to gauge Mabel.  The redhead stared deep into Mabel’s eyes before loosening her grip on the woman slightly. 

“You back with us?” she asked with a quick scan of Mabel’s features.  

“I believe I am,” Mabel replied slowly.   “Though I don’t remember leaving.” Natasha pulled her arms down, but kept a defensive stance.  She was ready to intervene if anything else were to happen. 

After Wanda practically shoved the stylist out of the room, she joined the women and looked Mabel over with a cautious gaze, her eyes flickering red. 

“We should probably get you upstairs,” Natasha frowned at Mabel.  Upstairs meant the lab.  And the lab meant that there was a _problem_. 

Suddenly Mabel no longer felt like an out-place-guest, but a monster to be cautious of. 

The walk to the lab was mainly silence interchanged with murmurs between Natasha and Wanda.  Mabel didn’t blame them, she clearly had been triggered by something and had intended harm.  If she’d been in their shoes, she probably would have made the call to shoot on sight.  

Passing a reflective surface, Mabel was able to catch a glimpse of her new hair. 

It was reassuring that she looked the way _Mabel Foster_ was supposed to look, even if she’d never felt so far away from herself in her life.

* * *

“You didn’t hear?  Apparently Foster went haywire and started attack Nat and Wanda when she was getting her hair done,” Sam and Clint were sharing a pizza, chatting between bites. 

“I told them it was a bad idea,” Sam tutted under his breath, not realizing that Bucky had joined the pair in the room.  “Can’t have a psycho-murderer wandering around.” 

“You’re too kind,” Bucky commented, grabbing a slice for himself.  Clint snorted on his bite and started to cough through his laughter. 

“Man, you know we’re cool,” Sam rolled his eyes.  “Your brain isn’t on the fritz anymore.  But I’m sure you remember the damage you single handedly caused in an afternoon." 

Bucky definitely remembered.  It was impossible not to.  When someone’s mind only knows vengeance and anger, a lot of progress can be made.  Negative or positive.  Spite was a powerful weapon. 

“So what happened?” he questioned, only hearing the latter half of the conversation. 

“Victorian Sally lost her shit a few hours ago,” Clint summarized reaching for the last piece.  He snagged it before Sam even glanced down, and smirked victoriously in the flying Avenger’s direction. 

“Edwardian,” Bucky corrected with an arched brow in Clint’s direction.  “But we only keep you around for your good looks, so don’t feel too bad.”

“I thought that’s why we kept _you_ around, tall, brooding and handsome,” Clint threw a crumpled napkin at his teammate. 

“I’d recommend stopping by the lab though.  Wanda, Steve and the science twins have been locked up there with her all afternoon and if it’s anything like your treatment-,” he grimaced.  “Maybe having someone who’d been through it before would be helpful.”

Bucky wasn’t so sure.  There were a few times he broke down in the most vulnerable ways- and having an even larger audience didn’t help.  The broken lab equipment that suffered probably could speak more truths than arguing with the archer.

“Yeah,” he shrugged.  “I’ll check it out.”

He started toward the elevator and barely heard Sam make another comment. 

“They’re all gonna die.  I swear, make my words,” he insisted in a hushed tone. 

* * *

Perhaps in theory, pulling her memories and seeing what her exact triggers were would have been a good idea. 

But by the third hour of Wanda digging through her mind and replaying the years of abuse and torture she’d suffered, Mabel was beginning to think otherwise. 

This particular memory was a gruesome one- and it didn’t even involve Hydra.

It involved Joseph Rogers final moments; and Mabel could sense Wanda’s pain as she experienced it for the first time. 

The joke was on them- Mabel replayed that memory hundreds of times as a reminder of where her last shred of empathy and humanity had left her.

“Ok, Wanda take a break,” Steve’s voice pulled the women out of their connection and both girls exchanged a similar look of pain. 

“I’m very sorry,” Wanda murmured miserably.  She looked worn down, Mabel realized.  Perhaps her life was more exhausting than she’d credited it for.  There was certainly a high body count that she’d been associated with.

“Buck, you can come in,” Steve looked toward the lab door, his face a mix of pity and frustration.  “How are you two feeling?” he looked between Wanda and Mabel, frowning at their lack of responses. 

“I think I may need some rest,” Wanda admitted after a heartbeat of silence between the group. 

“I think that’s a good idea,” Dr. Banner chimed in.  “There’s a lot to dig through and it seems like we’ve barely covered anything.  It’s better to keep everyone in their best shape.”

“What have you found out?” she could hear Bucky muttering to Steve in the corner.  The blonde haired man glanced over at her and then repositioned so he could better talk without her listening. 

They hadn’t found out much, aside from the exact words that sent her into a frenzy with Natasha and Wanda.  So Tony had suggested that Wanda try to pull information that may have been hidden in the depths of Mabel’s mind. 

The problem was that she couldn’t even remember words being placed there, so they were dissecting as many traumatic memories as possible to find _anything_.

Tony had remained uncharacteristically quiet throughout the process, only occasionally glancing up from his computer.  His presence was primarily data related, though he did come up with the original suggestion when similar methods to Bucky wouldn’t work.

He only really moved when Wanda practically collapsed and Steve caught her before she hit the floor.  Dr. Banner volunteered to help move her to her room and the trio disappeared through the lab door. 

This left Bucky, Mabel and Tony, all sitting in a terse silence.  

“How are you?” he asked, his blue eyes flickering to the pale Mabel.  

“I am wonderful, Mr. Barnes,” she replied, her tone laced with venom.  She hadn’t meant for it to come off so biting, but her head pulsed in pain from the invasive procedure. 

“I’m sensing sarcasm,” Tony announced, a stray glance from his computer.  Mabel swallowed back the sharp response she had planned, instead staring down at her hands.  It really wasn’t pleasant having your most traumatic memories relived, one by one. 

In fact, she was rather exhausted, but Mabel was certain that she wouldn’t be able to sleep in her own bed tonight. 

“Just remember, whatever happened, it wasn’t _you_ ,” Bucky murmured under the hum of computers and lab equipment.  “It can be a lot to take it, but I’m willing to bet we’ll figure it out.”

Tony snorted across the lab.

“ _We’ll_?” he questioned the soldier with raised brows and an amused expression.  “Didn’t realize you’d joined the team, Tin Man.”

“It makes the most sense, right?” he shrugged the comment off and focused on Mabel.  “Besides, out of all of us, I think I can relate the most.”

There was that, Mabel added mentally.  And the fact that he was the only person who didn’t step around her like she was a bomb, ready to explode.

“Do you know them?  The trigger words?” he edged closer to her, his expression fixed in concentration. 

“We found out a handful today,” Tony explained before Mabel could speak.  “Wanda and Natasha were chatting in Russian before little Mabel here lost her mind.  But she let loose, and wasn’t under control like you.”

“Russian for Paris, broken and central,” Tony spoked up before Mabel had a chance to speak. 

“They were talking about the bombing this morning,” Bucky noted with a hum.  He looked up at Tony before knitting his brows in concentration with Mabel.  For an instant, hazel met blue before Mabel flushed and looked away due to the intensity. 

Bucky leaned back into a chair and released a long held breath while in thought.  He started to lean forward and shake his head silently, earning a curious look from Mabel and Tony.

“You look like you have a terrible idea that I’d love to be involved in,” Tony commented, snapping his computer shut and walking over to the duo.  Mabel watched between the two men wearily.  Her head was already spinning.  She certainly was not in the mood for more mind games.

“It’s risky though,” Bucky admitted before sending an empathetic frown in Mabel’s direction.  “Not particularly ethical.”

Then it hit her.

“You want to trigger it,” she realized out loud.  “On _purpose_ …”

“Maybe we can get you to reveal the rest,” Bucky shrugged.  “I had to listen to every command, we can use that in our favor.”

“Or you’ll kill everyone,” Tony added casually.

Mabel paused, weighing out her options.  She could let Wanda sift through every intimate and personal detail of her life, or they could jump in and see what happened.  Honestly, Mabel trusted Bucky with her safety than anyone else.  He knew what to expect, he knew how to shut it down. 

“You two will keep everyone safe, correct?” she clarified firmly. 

“It’s what we do, Mae,” Tony replied with a tight nod.  “I still don’t get why Wilson has his feathers in a ruffle about this.  Nat took you down in seconds, and I’m willing to bet that Barnes can cut that time in half.” 

“I promise I won’t hurt you,” Bucky added earnestly.  “We’ll keep you safe too.  At least physically.”

That’s right, Mabel mused.  They can’t exactly protect her from her mind.  

“I didn’t think they’d gotten in that deep,” Mabel finally admitted under her breath.

“They’re parasites,” Bucky reached forward and gripped her hand with his flesh hand in reassurance.  “It isn’t you.  They took the worst pieces of us and used it to their advantage.”

“I probably killed innocent people,” she whispered to him, almost forgetting that Tony sat behind her, watching the conversation with interest. 

It wasn’t that she hadn’t killed people as a soldier.  She’d pointed the barrel of her gun at plenty of men; but she remembered all of them.  Every life taken, on and off the books- it was her personal sin to amend for down the line. 

The fact there was a gap, a hole in her nightmares to be filled, nearly overwhelmed her.

“You were too strong for them to kill you, so they used you as a pawn,” Bucky squeezed her hand and they met eyes again.  The hardened blue that usually shone from him had softened and a small, reassuring smile crinkled the edges of his eyes. 

“I recommend making a choice soon, because they’ll be back and Spangles will not be happy about this particular plan,” Tony voiced, snapping Mabel out of the daze.  Bucky’s hand was still gripping hers in comfort, and despite the embarrassment she felt of such a personal gesture, she realized that she needed the anchor. 

“Let’s try it,” she decided, her voice raised in confidence.  She wanted to ask what the worst that could happen, but both her and Bucky inherently knew the danger of the task- she was more worried that Tony didn’t realize what, exactly, he was committing to.

“ _Oops_ ,” Stark pressed a button on a nearby monitor and grinned at the pair.  “It looks like the lab is completely blacked out and locked out.  What a crazy accident.  Would you like to do the honors Barnes?”

Mabel could practically see his mind racing at the decision.  Yet for some strange reason, she needed it to be him.

“It’s ok,” she forced a smile to him.  “I’ll be fine, _Bucky_.  I trust you.”

At the sound of his name, he nodded stoically and began to speak.  She trusted him. 

“Центральный, Париж, Сломанный,” he kept his hand in hers, watching for a reaction.  Tony stood to the side, watching with both amusement and curiosity.   

It felt like both men were mad for even considering such a dangerous task. 

It took a second, but Mabel’s eyes dilated and she twisted Bucky’s arm behind his back sharply. 

“ _Qui es-tu_?” she demanded, leaping from her spot and seeking out the first weapon she could get her hands on.  “ _Reponds-moi_.” 

“Oh no you don’t,” Tony intervened, a mechanical armor surrounding his arm when he grabbed her wrist before she dove at Bucky with a nearby syringe.   

“ _Laisse-moi partir_!” she snarled, her nails digging at the metal edges.   Bucky was a bit impressed.  She was faster than he would have guessed, and her healing advantage didn’t make it too easy of a fight.  If she was a bit stronger, he could have seen Hydra using her over the century instead of him.  “ _Ou suis-je_?!”  

Despite her bloodied fingers, she continued to dig and twist at Tony until she snapped her hand free. 

“She just broke her wrist,” Tony stated in horror, backing away from the woman.  “On _purpose_.” 

She simply blinked at the injury before twisting her hand roughly back into place and going after Bucky again. 

“ _We’re trying to help_ ,” Bucky tried in French.  Instead she hissed a slew of curses and went for his neck with the large needle that she’d somehow secured during her interaction with Tony. 

“ _Soldat_!” he tried, his voice raising.  It was a grasp in the dark, but it seemed to work.  Mabel froze in place, her arms dropping to her sides and the needle crashing to the floor. 

“ _Pret a respector,_ ” she replied, eyes staring forward.  _Ready to comply_.

“ _Tell me_ ,” he paused, his French a little rustier than he would have liked.  “ _Tell me- who in Hydra is your handler?"_  

“ _Docteur Krauss_ ,” came her instant reply.  “ _Pret a respecto_ r, _monsieur_.”

“ _What are your trigger words_?” he tried, but Mabel looked like she was going to weep while waiting for instructions.  The swirling memories- the darkness.  Bucky knew it well.

“ _Pret a respector,_ ” she repeated, her voice shaking slightly.  Her hands clenched into a fist. 

“ _I order you to tell me how to control the soldier_ ,” his heart openly broke at the sight in front of him.  She was fighting so hard against whatever demon that haunted her mind.

“ _Pret a respector.”_

 _“How does your handler activate the soldier?”_ Tony voiced from the back of the room.  Mabel whirled on her heel to face the armored brunette.  “ _This is an order from Dr. Krauss_.”

“ _Paris, casse, central, gaz moutarde, femme, explosion_ ,” she recited automatically.  “ _Pret a respector.”_

“ _Do not comply_ ,” Bucky stated firmly.  She twirled back around and narrowed her gaze.

“ _Is this the target_?” she questioned Tony, frowning.  The genius looked at Bucky in surprise and shrugged. 

“I don’t know, _are you_?” he asked, returning to English.  “Any idea how we snap her out of it?”

Bucky grimaced at the thought before speaking up.  What had Natasha called it the few encounters he’d been forced out of his brainwashing?

Cognitive recalibration. 

“We’ve got to hit her in the head, _hard_ ,” he answered dryly, bracing himself for the inevitable.

“ _That is your target, soldier_ ,” Tony acknowledged, amusement clearly apparent.  Bucky knew the man wasn’t his biggest fan, but he never would have expected how much joy he was getting from this. 

Mabel practically flew at Bucky’s chest, her legs going for his torso.  He was able to lift her without too much trouble and toss her into a nearby wall.  She hit the structure with a loud thud, but recovered quickly.  She charged for his legs, catching him off guard and tackling him to the ground. 

He was holding back, but Bucky was beginning to think he didn’t need to.  She went for a swing at his face before he held her back with his metal arm.  He shoved her to the side and tried to pin the thrashing woman down before he felt something dig into his side.

She’d found his knife, and slid it in nicely between his ribs.

“ _Dammit_ ,” he cursed, yanking the metal object out and throwing it at Tony’s feet.  “At least keep weapons away from her, _Stark_.”

“I’m not the one who feels the need to carry an eight-inch blade with me everywhere,” Tony shot back, picking up the weapon and tucking it away from her range. 

“ _Mabel_ ,” Bucky tried after he leaned his elbow into her chest.  She continued screaming in French, occasionally dipping in Russian and German.  Hadn’t she assured him that she didn’t know Russian?  “Foster!  Snap out of it.”

“ _Over your dead body_ ,” she hissed, before biting down on his arm and drawing blood.  He pressed down on her neck with his metal arm and her head snapped backwards into the tile. 

After that, everything stilled.  Tony took a few steps forward hesitantly, and Bucky released his grip from the unmoving soldier. 

It felt like an eternity before her eyes fluttered open, taking in the scene around her.  A few pieces of equipment had been sacrificed in the ordeal, and at least one of the walls sported a hole.  

“You with us kid?” Tony asked after Bucky pulled away and sat a few feet away.  The super soldier hadn’t expected such a violent response, though they were able to get some of the answers they sought.  He quietly stood up and grabbed a nearby gauze for his forearm and side.  

She fought quick and dirty, a reflection of the era she was molded in. 

“Yes,” she replied, sitting up with a hand on her forehead.  She leaned back on her free hand and looked to Bucky.  “Are you ok?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” Tony was at her side, helping her to her feet toward the examination table. 

“ _You’re_ not bleeding,” she pointed out, her attention shooting back to her fellow soldier.  “Mr. Barnes?”

“You nicked me with a knife,” he explained, lifting his shirt to reveal the wound.  Already it was beginning to heal amongst the other scars that lined his torso.  “And bit me.”

“ _Bit you_ ,” she repeated with wide eyes.  He tried not to chuckle as she tried her best to avoid looking at his naked side.  She looked at his shoes.  “Did we find the answers we needed?”

“Have some decency Barnes,” Tony laughed, pulling down Bucky’s shirt and turning to Mabel.  “We know the words.  Now we just need to know the why, hopefully Wanda can help a little with that.  But, it’s going to be mostly you, and being willing to talk it through.”

While Bucky mended himself, he saw a flash of panic in Mabel’s eyes.  He didn’t blame her.  There was some ugliness that needed to be pulled out and from personal experience; it wasn’t pretty. 

“Am I allowed to leave?” she asked absently, after Tony read off the words in English.  “To go to my room?" 

“As far as I’m concerned, as long as no one says the magic words, you can have the same amount of freedom as before.  Just try to have someone with you when outside your room,” Tony reasoned after typing up a few notes on his computer.  Mabel slid off of the table wordlessly and stood, waiting for Tony to unlock the lab.  She sent a pointed look at him, and he got the message loud and clear.

“They’re probably going to kill us soon enough anyway,” Tony sighed, unlocking the doors.  “I recommend you two getting a head start, they’re about two floors away.”

Bucky knew the last thing either of them wanted was a lecture on personal safety from Steve.  He looped his arm around Mabel’s and pulled her through the door and down an emergency corridor toward the back staircase. 

Mabel moved like a zombie- her mind in a daze and her movements slow.  She barely reacted to Bucky tugging her forward, her feet only listening one step at a time.  

They hid away in the staircase, a large metal door closing behind the pair before he turned on the young woman.  It’d been about a month since they’d first met and finally the mask she forced upon herself daily had slipped away.  What he was seeing was a shell of a woman, taken by terrorists and tortured until she shattered.  It was like looking into a mirror. 

So Bucky did what he wished someone would have done for him, and pulled her into a tight embrace.  Her small frame practically collapsed into him, and she buried her face into his chest, her body shaking while she tried to steady her breathing. 

They sank to the floor, Bucky murmuring comforts in her ear while she broke down in his arms.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat like this, but he didn’t move until she stilled.  She’d fallen asleep in a fit of exhaustion.  Twice, she’d been activated that day.  He was honestly surprised she hadn’t dropped down in the lab after their fight.  He stood up, careful to lift her body in his arms so he wouldn’t wake her.  Sleep was such a seldom luxury around here, and he was sure she needed every minute of it.

He began the trek toward their rooms, but paused outside of Mabel’s room when he realized he’d need a retinal scan to open the door.  Unwilling to wake the sleeping woman, he relented and took her to his own quarters, a smaller room tucked away on the far end of the living area. 

The door slid open without too much trouble and he set her on his bed, pulling back the sheets and tucking her into place.  For someone with so many burdens, she seemed so tiny compared to him.  Tiny and vulnerable. 

She rolled toward him and murmured under her breath, shifting so her hair fell over her features.  It was a natural movement, he reached forward and tucked the stray hair behind her ears. 

Mabel looked so content sleeping, he’d almost forgotten to set himself a bed on the sofa.

Sure, he had a king sized bed, but between his gentlemanly guilt and her potential horror of waking up next to him, he figured it would be the best bet. 

Even if every bone in his body ached after the ordeal.

Paris, central, broken, woman, mustard gas, and explosion.

He thought through the words carefully, trying to think of their connections with the woman’s past.  So simple.  Like his.  Yet they meant enough to bring her world crashing down.

* * *

 

** Central Park, Manhattan, New York, NY- May 1911 **

 

“It’s too crowded here,” Mabel confessed with a frown.  She looked up at her companion, her arm locked neatly in his.  “Not _here_ , but in the city.  Too many people." 

“So the pretty rich girl wants to run away?” Samuel teased, that smirk sending an involuntary flutter through Mabel’s heart.  “Where have I heard that story?”

“Mind yourself,” she countered with a small smile.  “My mother would lose her senses, but perhaps status and wealth aren’t everything in this world.” 

“My stars,” Sam chuckled and loosened his arm, pulling Mabel to a small corner behind a shrub.  “You’re talking crazy, Miss Foster.  Are you quite all right?  Perhaps it’s the fumes?” 

“ _Sam_ ,” she pulled her hand away, her cheeks reddening at the sudden display, but Samuel held on tight and pulled her a little closer.  “People will see…”

“Let them,” he announced and gave her a twirl.  They continued down the flowered corridor, earning a few stares and running through the falling flowers before they made it to the Sheep Meadow.  Mabel dropped onto the soft grass, rolling to her side and laughing.  Samuel plopped down next to her and took her hand in his.  He gave it a soft kiss before gesturing out to the large field.

“We could move west, raise a huge flock of sheep,” he looked at her excitedly.  “I’m sure you have a lot of experience with livestock.”

“I held a chicken once,” Mabel chimed up excitedly.  His grin spread even further. 

“Perfect, but I’ll focus on the business, you’ll have to tend to the children,” he paused and she fell backward into the grass, the plush surface cradling her head softly. 

“We’ll have five,” she decided firmly.  “A big family.  Isiah, Mary, Felicity, Joshua, and Sarah.”

“Three girls might be a bit much,” he noted, his voice a little timid at the prospect. 

“And three boys aren’t?  At least the girls can whip them into gentlemen,” she giggled.  Sam rolled closer to her and soon the pair studied one another’s faces. 

“When do we leave?” he asked in a whisper, his hand reaching forward and tracing the edges of her face. 

“ _Tonight_ ,” she replied jokingly.  “Though you have to get Papa’s blessing first.”

“That might take a while.  I’m not sure _the help_ would be a good match for the great Maxwell Foster’s daughter,” Sam rolled onto his back again and stared up at the stars that slowly began to cover the sky.  “Besides, what about _Pierre_?” he practically spat the name of Maxwell’s recently taken on ward and allegedly Mabel’s betrothed.

Mabel knew their status differences hurt Sam, but she had meant what she said earlier.  It meant nothing to her.  They could run away and live in poverty the rest of her days and she’d still be happier than sitting in her gilded tower without him.

She crawled over to him, leaning her forearms on his chest and looking straight into his eyes.

“Samuel O’Brien, Papa already likes you,” she reminded him.  “And he’s always ignored mother when it comes to these silly things and _she’s_ the one pushing for Pierre.  I will speak to him, you’ll see.  We will be together.” 

Sam grinned brightly and quickly grabbed Mabel by the shoulders for a quick kiss.

“I believe you’re due back at the castle m’lady,” he teased, slipping away before he could incur her lectures.  Yet Mabel wasn’t in the mood for lectures, in fact, her heart wished she could lay with him in that grassy field for eternity, even with the sheep bleating in the background.

“You’ll meet me tomorrow though?” she sent a desperate look in his direction and he returned to her side, kneeling and kissing her hand. 

“For my princess?  Always.”

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who've read my other story, Hands, I mention a particular memory between Bucky and Steve in Central Park. The story at the beginning is that memory. 
> 
> Also just a warning that the next chapter gets a bit graphic. I'll put another heads up there, but I just wanted to give you guys an early warning! 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


	6. Love Love Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ********Trigger warning for an assault in the first memory.   
>  Feel free to skip it and jump to modern time, though it will be mentioned by Bucky and Mabel briefly.
> 
> Otherwise, enjoy!

**_“And these fingertips_ ** **_, will never run through your skin.  And those bright blue eyes can only meet mine across the room filled with people that are less important than you.”_ **

**– Of Monsters and Men ( _Love Love Love_ )**

* * *

 

** 1917- Past midnight- Early November **

 

“What do we have here?”

Mabel hadn’t even heard the soldier stumble his way through the underbrush to the pond where she was cleaning herself.  It’d been an unnaturally warm fall night, so she took the rare opportunity to fully clean herself and her wound.

She lowered herself into the water, ignoring the shooting pain from her freshly healing wound. 

What had he seen?

“I didn’t realize we had a _mademoiselle_ Garnier in our company,” he laughed, a bark-like sound that echoed across the water.  Her eyes finally adjusted to the figure when he stepped into the moonlight; McDonald had found her hidden spot.

 _Shit_.

She’d been so careful for _years_.  Rogers had only found out because of the emergent situation, but _this_ was genuine carelessness. 

“ _C’mere sweetheart_ , it’s been so long since I’ve seen a pretty face,” he chortled.  He was drunk, Mabel realized.  A handful of soldiers had decided to investigate a nearby tavern- they obviously found what they were looking for. 

The hair on the back of her began to raise while she backed away from him.

“I think you’re seeing things McDonald,” she chided, trying desperately to hide the fear in her voice.  “Little too much French Cognac?" 

“Oh shut the hell up,” McDonald pulled off his coat and started into the shallow pond, splashing after her.  “Get over here before I tell the whole camp your little fucked up secret." 

Mabel had practically crashed into the furthest bank, where she’d stacked her clothes.  She’d have to sacrifice her shoes, but she was fairly certain she would be able to pull something on before McDonald got across.

She scrambled onto the embankment, nearly slipping on the smooth surface while she gripped for whatever objects of protection she could gather.  She wrestled into a pair of pants and took off toward the woods while pulling her shirt over her head.  

There was no sense of direction; Mabel wasn’t even sure what she was going to do.  She couldn’t go back to camp without McDonald risking her safety.  She was alone in the woods, with no weapon, in German controlled French territory; in men’s under garments.

The situation couldn’t get less ideal. 

Taking a small leap over an overturned log in the path, Mabel didn’t even see the hole that waited on the other side.  Her foot slid in and she dropped face first into the ground. 

 _Shit_.  She could not afford another injury. 

Though from a quick assessment, it seemed like she would get away with a few scrapes. 

She jumped back to her feet, but McDonald shot out of nowhere and crashed her into a nearby tree. 

“I just wanted to say hello, and you’ve got to make this difficult,” he was digging at the belt of his pants, his fingers clumsy and distracted.  Mabel tried to use this to her advantage and take another chance at freedom.  Instead, he angrily slammed her head against the tree bark.

Mabel’s body fell limp and she dropped to the bottom of the tree.  Her head swam in and out of consciousness, only mildly aware of what was about to happen to her. 

McDonald ripped her shirt, and easily pulled away her bottoms.  She tried struggling against his movements, but he hit and kicked until she was dizzy and bleeding from the lip.  

He whispered things in her ear, grotesque things that made her skin crawl, but her body protested against any movement to protect herself.  

His hands touched and traced, playing and pulling until he grunted and began to get ready for his own pleasure.  

Mabel closed her eyes and waited for what felt like the inevitable.  This was it.  This was the worse possibly scenario that could have come out of this.  She’d be raped, thrown into an asylum for cross dressing and…

But the next touch was gentle. 

“ _Jesus, Mae_ ,” Joseph’s voice vaguely registered in her mind and Mabel allowed a swallowed sob to the surface.  He took his jacket off and threw it over her shoulders, pulling her into a tight embrace.  “Bastard hurt you.” He lifted her chin to examine the extent of the damage and sighed. 

“I don’t think anything will stick,” he determined before his expression turned to anger.  “What the hell were you thinking?  I told you to tell me whenever you left camp.”

“I’m sorry,” she managed out of her blubbering.  She felt so pathetic.  So weak. 

So disgusted with her own femininity. 

Joseph pulled her to his chest with his arm and sat with her in the woods until the tears turned to soft hiccups in the quiet night. 

“We need to find your clothes,” he eventually determined, passing her the bottom garments that had been discarded less than ceremoniously onto the forest floor. 

“What about McDonald?” she questioned, trying to look over Joseph’s shoulder, but the blonde Irishman pushed the girl along, not allowing her to see. 

“Don’t worry about him,” he growled, a viciousness that Mabel had never heard lace his voice before.

It took some time for Mabel’s jumbled mind to fully understand the meaning behind his words, and by that point, they’d long traveled to their next camp location- without McDonald. 

Officially, Rogers found his body while scouting.  A German ambush in the woods that Pierre had barely escaped.  Fortunately, Rogers had been nearby to save the day. 

While the other soldiers congratulated him on his victory, he caught Mabel’s eye while her face was being patched up by the medic.  

They exchanged a tense nod, and that was all that was mentioned of the event.  The next day, Joseph was laughs and jokes- as usual.  

Things fell back to normal, with the pair sharing a few scouting missions and going about their usual business.

But Mabel made sure to tell him exactly where she going- from that point forward.

* * *

McDonald’s face was the last thing she saw before jerking awake in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room. 

Immediately her pulse began to quicken and she darted out of bed into the main living area.  

It looked similar to her room in the Stark compound in upstate New York.

Which was where she was, she reminded herself slowly.  She was _safe_.

Her mind tried to rewind the last few hours, only being able to remember weeping in Bucky’s lap near a staircase.  She was coming undone; the exact thing she had hoped to avoid.

 “I still get nightmares too,” a low voice commented from a few feet in front of her. 

Mabel froze, trying to place who it belonged to in the darkness, before Bucky peered over the edge of the sofa 

For the life of her, Mabel had no idea what was going on.  She waited in silence for Bucky to provide her an explanation.

“You passed out after we left the lab, I didn’t want to wake you,” he explained away.  Mabel relaxed slightly.  Seemed plausible.  She _was_ wearing the same clothes. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he offered softly referring to the dream that brought her out.  “They say it helps.”  Mabel cringed internally.  No, she didn’t.  She had no intention of talking about any of this- having resolved earlier to try and figure it out on her own. 

She knew the words- now she just needed to know the connections, some more obvious to her than others.  Mabel was certain the missing memories would fill in as she tried to figure out how the brainwashing got there.  But this was a mission she would handle _alone_.  If she was a threat, there was no point dragging anyone else into this mess.

“You’re not going to be able to do this alone,” Bucky yawned and fell back onto the sofa, disappearing from sight.  “Hydra screwed us up too much.  Trust me, I tried.”

Was he reading minds now?  Mabel took a step back. 

“You _are_ allowed to talk,” he added sleepily.  “Or just stunned into silence by my amazing deductive abilities?”

“You were worse off than I was,” she argued half-heartedly.  She’d seen some of the methods they’d tried on him.  She knew the memories were wiped.  She knew he’d suffered more abuse at their hands. 

“I remember the people I killed under their control, do you?” he countered back darkly. 

She didn’t. 

“But do you remember how they got you to that point?” she shot back, her head suddenly aching at the frustration building in her.  This man was beginning to infuriate her. 

He didn’t respond.  And Mabel knew she was right.  

“You shouted for a Joseph,” he replied instead, bringing up the nightmare she’d just woken from.  He sat back up and watched her.  Even in the darkness, she could almost see those sharp blue eyes studying her movements.  “Joseph Rogers, right?  Steve mentioned you served with his father.”

“He was a good man,” Mabel stated firmly, biting down any emotion that threatened to surge up.   “Gone too soon.  Sarah didn’t deserve that heartbreak." 

“I’d only heard stories about him,” Bucky admitted.  “She always said he was playing jokes and teasing everyone.”

Mabel smiled at a few unspoken memories. 

“He had a light about him,” she explained.  “He reminded me of an old friend.  It was pure and yet he wasn’t weak at all.  Stubborn as all hell, but made you laugh so fast that you’d forget what you were yelling at him about." 

“You knew him personally,” Bucky noted quietly.  “More than just fellow soldiers on a mission.”

“He knew who I was,” she moved closer to the sofa, unsure why she was revealing such personal information to him.  Wasn’t she angry with him a few moments ago?  She positioned herself on a nearby ottoman and continued talking.  “He watched out for me.” 

The War was dangerous, but arguably more so for women. 

“Who was McDonald?” Bucky asked quietly, once they were just an arm’s length from one another.  “You were shouting his name as well.  It was getting so violent I almost woke you up." 

Mabel swallowed at the name.  She never thought she’d be hearing that name spoken out loud again, and yet here it was.  A ghost mocking her from behind his grave. 

Mabel decided to save face and recite the incident like a report to a commanding officer.  She dared not reveal the depths that the scars pierced.

“He caught me bathing one night,” she began softly.  “Chased me through the woods outside of the Western front lines-” she shook her head at the foggy memory and jumped to the _happy_ ending.  “Joseph had been scouting that night and noticed I was missing from my tent.  I had mentioned the pond a few days before so he started there and eventually rescued me.”

She hated that word; _rescued_.  It was like she was some weak damsel that needed protection from the world.  It reminded her of the fragile Mabel Foster who dreamed on rooftops with Samuel O’Brien, not the woman who fought for four years in the greatest conflict known to mankind.

“He killed McDonald before any damage was done,” she clarified.  “He didn’t deserve the burden… it was my carelessness.”

“You cared for him,” Bucky realized in surprise.  He readjusted his position on the couch, more awake than before, listening to the story with interest. 

“He was an older brother to me, nothing more,” she assured him, her voice steady.  “I wept by his bedside during his last moments.  He thought I was his wife.  I wrote a letter to Sarah offering my condolences, but it was never sent.”

She’d gotten reckless after Joseph Rogers’ death.  It was like reliving the nightmare of Sam’s light being smothered.  She couldn’t cope, so she focused on her mission and did what she needed to do.  No matter the cost. 

Countless lives were smothered by her fury and hurt- and while she wouldn’t have taken anything back- it was impossible to say there were things she didn’t regret. 

“Steve’s just like him,” she commented during the lull in the conversation.  “They could be twins.”

“He wasn’t always like this,” Bucky explained, stretching his flesh arm over his shoulders and allowing a yawn.  “He was a scrappy kid growing up.  Always sick, always getting picked on.  It got better when he started art school, but with the war and his damned stubbornness...”

“He volunteered for the serum,” Mabel recalled from her reading a few nights before.  Mr. Stark had been very thorough in ensuring she understood every world-altering event and Steve Rogers’ transformation certainly topped the list. 

“Grew about a foot and gained the muscles of an ox,” Bucky pointed to his own arm to emphasize the point.  “He has the ‘perfect’ version so he’s truly the embodiment of truth and justice and poorly fitted shirts.”

“And look at us,” a stray laugh escaped her.  “The Jekylls to his Hyde.”

“You actually know that story?” Bucky snickered. 

“It was published in 1886, quite a few years before I was even born,” she coolly corrected him.  He let out a snort and moved off of the couch toward the curtains.  Sunlight was beginning to sneak through the edges, indicating the length of time the pair had spent talking. 

“I should return to my room,” Mabel stated after a patch of sunlight trailed across her face.  When the room illuminated, she realized Bucky was wearing only a pair of sleeping pants and nothing else.  “I wouldn’t want to give the wrong impression.”

“You may as well stay for breakfast,” he offered striding toward the kitchenette in the corner of the apartment.  “Steve’ll probably be by in a few minutes and I’m interested in taking on the challenge of feeding _three_ super soldiers.”

Mabel kept averting her gaze, using every ounce of willpower not to stare at the man’s abs and biceps.  He was in incredible shape.  Which made sense, considering his current line of employment. 

Mabel tried to distract herself with these thoughts while she stood up and went toward the front door. 

“I should change at the very least,” she stumbled over her own feet and caught herself on a nearby bookshelf.  “And I’m sure you need to clean up and I’d hate to impose…"

Mabel had seen plenty of naked men during her time in the service, and didn’t quite understand why she felt her face heating up at his casual demeanor around his living quarters. 

“I’m making pancakes,” he announced from the kitchen.  He was already adjusting dials on the stovetop and rummaging through cabinets for supplies. “So you’d better be back in twenty minutes or you’re going to be stuck with Clint’s questionable scrambled eggs.”

Mabel promised she’d return and parted the apartment as quickly as her legs would take her.  His world seemed so normal compared to the man she’d seen fifty years earlier.  It was a stark contrast that inspired a bit of hope in her chest; if he could do it, could she?

The hope was squashed as quickly as it had surged when she rounded the corner of the hallway and nearly collided into Steve. 

“Captain Rogers,” she greeted politely, a small nod of respect at the man.  She hadn’t quite gotten her bearings around him.  Certainly he’d been more than kind to her, going out of his way to show her the gadgets and history texts that she overlooked.

But he carried a ghost in him that Mabel wasn’t ready to confront.  Not yet, at least.  He was almost too much like his father.  Kind, compassionate and positive in the most adverse circumstances.  Perhaps she was scared of getting too close to him and watching him die like his father. 

She knew that she couldn’t bear to watch the life disappear out of those blue eyes a second time.

“Mabel,” he planted himself in the hallway and looked the woman over.  “How are you feeling?  Tony mentioned what had happened in the lab and I just wanted to make sure you were ok.”

Empathy seeped out of him, a warmth that Mabel quickly shoved aside.

“I’m much better,” she gave him a forced smile.  “We retrieved the answers we needed.  Hopefully that will make our task easier.”

“But how are _you_?” he crossed his arms and studied her over.  “I know the damage Hydra does.  It doesn’t just slip away with a good night’s sleep.”

A part of Mabel wanted to tell Steve everything; every thought and concern.  She wanted to confide in him like she had to his father a century before through countless nights in the trenches. 

But then she remembered that she was talking to _Steve_ , and not Joseph. 

Joseph was long dead in the ground. 

“Mr. Barnes has been wonderfully helpful through this,” she straightened her posture slightly, the formalities coming through like second nature.  Perhaps those days being trained in etiquette and masking one’s emotions would be more beneficial than she’d thought.  “He’s even invited me for breakfast with the two of you.  His generosity exceeds any expectations, truly." 

It was an answer without a response- a trick her mother had taught her at a very young age. 

“If you will excuse me, I’d like to freshen up before joining you,” and with that, Mabel parted from the hall and practically sprinted back to her room.  

She collapsed on her bed the moment her door closed behind her.  She felt like she was walking pins and needles more than she had around her over-zealous mother.  She certainly couldn’t blame a corset for the tightness in her chest and gymnastics in her stomach. 

* * *

“Someone’s making sure Barnes doesn’t get too far over his head with this, right?” Tony asked the group of Avengers surrounding the breakfast table.  Steve had been talking with Sam about a mission from a few days previously when they were interrupted by the genius. 

“Since when do you care about Barnes’ wellbeing?” Natasha interjected with a smirk.  “Unless you’re getting soft for those baby-blues?”

“I’m concerned about the _team’s_ wellbeing and if he ends up distracted, we have a problem,” he explained, grabbing a fresh cup of coffee out of Clint’s hands and taking a long sip.  He passed it back and paused at the head of the table.  “So once again, is anyone paying attention to the ice twins?  Or am I the only one noticing their hyper-freaky Hydra bonding?” 

“They’re both literally the most misplaced people in history, I’m pretty sure it’s to be expected that they’d be drawn together for comfort,” Natasha held the bridge of her nose between two fingers, Steve could tell that the redhead was in no mood for Tony’s conclusions. 

Not this early, at least.

“And what if Foster has a meltdown while Buck’s in the field?  I gotta go with Stark on this one,” Sam voiced, earning a frown from his blonde friend.

 “Would he even know?  It’s not like we’re planning on field training her,” Steve shrugged and took a bite out of the toast Sam passed to him. 

“I wouldn’t leave the option out,” Tony mumbled and poured himself his own cup of coffee after trying to reach for Clint’s again and having it pulled away with a scowl.  “I don’t think she’ll be working at Burger King anytime soon.”

“I don’t think she’ll be leaving this compound anytime soon, either,” Natasha countered.  “I think we need to focus on our battles in front of us before trying to win the war.  Though I agree, if she has the proper training and experience; she could be an asset to us.” 

“I thought the ‘asset’ part was what we were trying to fix?  Or did I miss a memo today?” Clint asked, draining the last part of his coffee and practically slamming the mug down.  “Bucky’s fine now and his brain was _far_ worse.  So we poke a few needles and have Wanda scramble a few things, boom.  Fixed.”

“We aren’t taking any memories from her,” Steve declared firmly.  He pressed his hand on the edge of the table and looked at each team member present.  “Bucky worked through it, she’ll work through it.  Anything beyond that is outside of our control.”

“If she’s even up for it,” Tony muttered under his breath.  “The kid’s locked down like a vault.  I had to look through her search history to even find anything about her outside of tabloids.”

“We’ve all suffered and lost people,” Steve looked at the billionaire pointedly.  “And we’re all in one piece now, all having taken different routes to get there.  Give it time, like Nat said, we know our battle.  Let’s prep every possible strategy and aim for success.”

* * *

“Tony and Bruce wanted to meet with you this afternoon,” Steve informed Mabel after she settled at the small island near Bucky’s kitchen.  Bucky glanced up from his cooking and rolled his eyes at his friend.

“Can’t we just enjoy one breakfast without talking business?” he complained loudly, flipping a pancake onto a nearby plate.  “Mae, do you like blueberries?”

“I do,” she replied, a small smile threatening to break that icy exterior.  “Very much so.”

Bucky grinned at the stovetop.  He should have known that they shared a favorite pancake recipe.

“Buck,” Steve interrupted his train of thought and the former assassin blinked in his direction.

“Mhm?” he hummed, pouring more batter onto the pan.  He turned and placed three plates, stacked with blueberry pancakes in front of the duo.

“Are you sure this is going to be enough?” Steve teased with an arched brow at his friend.  Decades passed and the little punk still had the same sass. 

“I’m not even sure,” he finally had time to fully face the pair and saw that Mabel had indeed changed into a knee length dress in a navy blue.  She sported it with a white sweater that fit awkwardly over her arms- he knew Natasha had guessed on sizes, but obviously underestimated the rate the young woman would grow to health.  Her hair was tucked neatly behind her ears with pins, in a look that matched her stern mask perfectly.  “We should make this a contest.”

“Or we can eat because I might actually die,” Steve whined, a fork digging for the nearest pile of food.  Bucky pulled it away before he could steal a bite and passed it to Mabel.

“These are for Mae,” he informed his friend with a frown.  “You get the burnt ones for complaining all morning.”

It was discreet, but he could have sworn he saw a victorious smirk flash across the blonde woman’s features before she started to work on the monstrosity of pancakes.

“Where did you learn to cook so well?” It was almost impossible to understand what Mabel was saying as she shoved more of the meal into her mouth.  “They don’t teach this in the army.”

“Maybe not the _French_ army,” Steve teased, pointing a fork in her direction.  “Us Americans are basically professional chefs." 

“The French created fine cuisine,” Mabel stared at him in surprise.   “Perhaps Mr. Barnes did a tour in France we’re unaware of.”

“Or I got yelled at by my Ma until I helped with breakfast in the mornings,” Bucky chuckled at the interaction between the two blondes.  It was strangely comforting; having the three of them around a table, sharing a meal and laughing with one another.

“Can you cook, Mabel?” Steve inquired after chewing through a few bites.  “I set fire to nearly everything I touch.  It’s a curse." 

“Especially considering how much you eat,” Bucky sighed dramatically, placing another plate of pancakes on the table.  “He cleans me out of house and home.  I risk my life so I can pay to feed him.”

Mabel grinned into her pancakes before answering. 

“I can make a can of beans and ration packs,” she replied through a laugh.  “I knew this trick to get them to actually taste like food.”

“Impossible,” Bucky gaped at her and shook his head.  “I’m still convinced they blended some grass and dirt and called it good.”

“The trick-,” she began and looked between the two former soldiers, building suspense.  “Is to throw it away and find a rabbit or a berry bush.”

Who knew she had a sense of humor beyond the biting comments she made to everyone?

There were so many sides to the Mabel Foster puzzle, but Bucky was beginning to see where they all connected.  The Mabel who laughed through breakfast was the same Mabel who took down eleven German infantry members in an afternoon from a single post in a tree.  The same Mabel who screamed in forests and jumped off of cliffs. 

Just like how the Bucky that served pancakes was the same Bucky that fell from the railcar.  The same Bucky who killed hundreds under Hydra’s control; and who killed dozens in the name of freedom.  The same Bucky who held Mabel’s hand while facing his own nightmare of activating a super soldier.

The three of them had more in common than the chemicals running through their blood, Bucky realized as the morning progressed.  They were misfits, in a century that was shaped by their sacrifices, but not made for their lives.  And by some miracle of fate, or God, or whatever high power there was- they had found each other.

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this story is personally victimizing me to keep writing, haha. 
> 
> Every time I'm like "Oh, I need to focus on work, or study for the LSAT" Bucky and Mabel smack me upside the head to keep writing. 
> 
> Ah well. 
> 
> If I don't get into law school I can blame Bucky Barnes, right?


	7. Explosions

 

**"Y _ou wasted all that sweetness to run and hide_**   
**_I wonder why_**   
**_I remind you of the days you poured your heart into_**   
**_But you never tried_**   
**_I've fallen from grace_**   
**_Took a blow to my face_**   
**_I've loved and I've lost."_**

**-Ellie Goulding ( _Explosions_ )**

 

* * *

 

** Paris, France - October 30th, 1914 **

 

“Pierre warned me that I might be receiving a visitor soon,” Marie Garnier grabbed one of Mabel’s bags and hefted it over her shoulder.  “I didn’t imagine in a million lifetimes that it’d be _you_."

Marie Garnier had been a childhood friend to Mabel while Pierre worked under Mabel’s father in New York.  The younger sister of Mabel’s fiancé eventually returned to Paris to study fashion, though Mabel tried to keep contact, life circumstances got in the way.  It’d been quite some time since the pair had gotten in contact

“It’s wonderful to see you too,” Mabel greeted, tucking a stray blonde hair behind her ear.  The French woman rolled her eyes before pulling the heiress into a firm hug. 

“So what brings you to this terrible continent?  I would have thought you’d be begging me to hide in your gilded tower with you,” Marie led the way from the train platform toward a small neighborhood up the road.  Newspapers shouted the latest disasters with bold print and Parisians sat in cafes, smoking and murmuring to one another about the most recent fatality. 

“Change in scenery,” Mabel replied cryptically, unsure of the details that Pierre may have passed along ahead of her.  Marie hummed in acknowledgement and continued forward 

“Packed a little light for a long visit,” she commented, lifting the bag slightly.  She gestured toward a nearby apartment door and set the bag down, rummaging in her pockets for a key.  “Unless you aren’t planning on staying long. 

Mabel remained silent while crossing the doorway into the small apartment.  It had a certain charm to it; Marie had scattered various patterns and fabrics around the room; a half dressed mannequin was situated in the center of her kitchen. 

“Make yourself at home,” Marie set Mabel’s bag on the dining room table and began to rapidly tidy up the main living areas.  “I’ve been working on a project; I apologize for the mess.”

“You’re completely fine,” Mabel assured her friend, taking in the decorations and the photographs that lined the small window in Marie’s kitchen.  “I don’t even have that one.”

She pointed to a picture of her and Pierre from last Christmas, the pair of them straining a smile into the camera.  Her mother had been insistent that it be the photograph accompanying their engagement announcement in the Times. 

“Pierre sent it a while back,” Marie commented offhand.  “Something about an engagement.  I didn’t bother paying attention to the rest.  Lord knows you wouldn’t willingly marry him.  Who’d want a lifetime doomed with him?”

“You jest,” Mabel began to pull off her traveling gloves and tucked them next to another small bag she’d brought for her journey.  “He’s been very kind and helpful, helping me through everything so far.”

“I did hear about your father’s death, my sincerest condolences,” Marie’s attention was transfixed on a sheer fabric that she only lowered to look at Mabel an instant.  “I’m afraid you’ve picked a bad time to come to the French countryside and grieve.”

“I’d beg to differ,” Mabel casually muttered, lifting one of Marie’s sketches toward the sunlight and setting it down on a nearby counter gently.  “In fact, perhaps that is the exact reason why I’m here.”

Marie dropped her project and stared at the woman like she was speaking another language. 

“Do you plan on winning the war as vengeance for your father?” there was a mixture of humor and disbelief in the Parisian’s tone.  “Perhaps I could recommend a good hospital or sanatorium for you to stay in.  Get your head clear.”

Mabel fidgeted with the paperwork Pierre had given her that she’d stashed in the lining of her dress for safe keeping. 

“Pierre said it was a terrible idea as well,” she continued, taking a seat in a nearby armchair.  “But he assured me you would be able to help with certain logistics." 

That certainly caught Marie’s attention.  She moved a few things aside and sat down next to her old friend. 

“Who knows you are here?” she questioned, her brows knitted in concentration.  Mabel realized that her companion was beginning to piece together her unorthodox visit’s meaning. 

“Pierre,” Mabel replied simply.  “And now you.” 

“Your mother?”

“She is no mother to me,” Mabel shot back, her tone coming out like ice.

“Oh Mabel,” the French woman soothed.  “I know losing your father is difficult… Pierre and I had nearly lost our minds when mother and father were lost but-,”

“It’s not just that,” Mabel interrupted, her face reddening at the outburst.  “There’s more to it.  I don’t just want to do this.  I have to.  The world is crumbling and I can’t sit back watching it from my- what did you call it? - _Gilded tower_.”

“This is _war_ ,” Marie pressed, trying to reason with the American woman.  Her knuckles were white from holding the edge of her seat.  “This isn’t one of your novels or plays.  People are _dying_." 

“What right do I have to sit quietly by while the world moves around us?” Mabel shot back with a frown.

“This isn’t even your country’s fight,” Marie reminded her, but Mabel shook her head. 

“It became my fight when they took my father,” Mabel’s voice lowered.  He’d been an innocent bystander.  Sam had been an innocent bystander.  “Who will stand up to the victims of these cruel acts against humanity?”

“You’re not going to save everyone,” Marie was almost hysterical, a laugh slipping past her incredulous demeanor.  “There are no heroes here.  Just dead men and women waiting for the inevitable.” 

“You sound so sure,” Mabel shook her head and stood up from her chair, heading toward the kitchen.  “I can stay in a hotel if you’d like.  The decision was made long before I boarded the boat here.”

Marie stared down the blonde woman and sighed, the noise dragging out while she mentally ran through her choices. 

“Don’t be silly, you will be staying with me,” she stood up and headed toward a small room in the back of the apartment.  “We’ll have to share a bed, though I can assure you it’ll be more comfortable than the ground you seem to be so set on living on.” 

“I don’t have any other choice,” Mabel murmured softly, when Marie shot a look of pain to her friend. 

“I think you do,” Marie pointed out while she grabbed an armful of extra blankets.  “I just think you’re being blind due to stubbornness.”

* * *

“That seems a little risqué for 1917,” Bucky commented while Mabel was reading a section of _A Farewell to Arms_ out loud.  The particular passage he was referring to described an intimate encounter between the two protagonists during WWI in an Italian hospital.  

“What do you mean?”  Mabel set the book in her lap and glanced up at her companion.  “They're human.  Regardless of the generation.  This sort of thing isn't new.”

Mabel had heard all kinds of stories of men paying for lovers throughout small French villages, often the women had been left behind or widowed by the war.  Or someone powerful had hoped to make a few extra dollars by exploiting youth. 

Bucky let out a grunt and repositioned himself in his chair.  

“Did you not take lovers?” Mabel inquired with a small smile.  “I would find that hard to believe with the stories Steve tells of your youth." 

“That's not a proper conversation to have with a lady,” he pointed out.  His voice cracked at the statement and he frowned at the floor.  

“I think you forget I spent four years with a group of very passionate and frustrated men,” she simply replied before opening the book to a random page.  “I have a feeling this story will have an unhappy ending.”  

Bucky leaned forward and frowned.  

“Why do you say that?  I think he and Catherine will be able to live happily after the war,” he shook his head.  “They're meant to be." 

“Then they'll get to live through another war,” Mabel sighed.  “And watch their children be pulled away by it.  They are the same age as your own parents at this time.  Remember that. 

Bucky fell silent before he shook his head and grabbed the novel out of her hands.  

“My parents had a happy ending.  They watched my sister get married and lived long, happy lives together.”

Mabel had to swallow down the envy that rose in her chest.  It was brief.  A feeling of loss that she'd tried for decades to push away.  

“Besides, they wouldn't have known the future,” he held the book up.  “They just know they love each other.”

“What a simple life,” Mabel merely commented before taking the book back gently and flipping through the pages aimlessly. “It must be nice to be able to find love so strong you can hide from the monsters of the world.”

“You sound like me,” he laughed, standing from his seat and snatching the novel out of her grasp.  He held it above her head teasingly.  “Which means _I'm_ being the positive one and that means we need to find something else to do before doom and gloom ruin us.”  

“Perhaps I enjoy being bitter,” Mabel tried, jumping at the book with a small hop before giving up.  Bucky was much taller than her, a fact he loved to tease her about on a nearly daily basis.  

“I don't believe that,” he replied, setting the book back on a nearby shelf and ushering the blonde woman out of their little hideaway. 

They stepped into the windowed hallway and paused at the looming landscape outside.  

December had finally rolled around and the weather seemed to have shifted overnight.  

A heavy snow had covered the trees and grounds surrounding the compound, giving the area an almost magical sense of wonder.  

“When do you return to the city?” Mabel inquired quietly.  Tony and the others had tried to be sly about it, but she knew the compound was only used during the warmer months.   The Tower in the center of Manhattan was the Avengers primary base and Stark had been preparing for their return for a few weeks now.  

“Next Monday,” Bucky replied, his eyes still locked on the white blanket in front of them.  

No one had the heart to tell Mabel that she'd be stuck at the compound indefinitely- or at least until her head was a little more under control.  

Mabel nodded at the information and remained quiet.  She wasn't sure how she felt about him leaving.  Certainly the pair had grown a certain fondness between them that she could only chalk up to a friendship.  Yet, an unspoken voice in the back of her head ached at the emptiness that building would yield without her metal armed companion.  

He was, after all, the only constant she'd had for the last few weeks.  

“I can write,” he offered jokingly.  “Or we can video call.  Talk about how things are going with Sam and Bruce.”  

“Or both,” Mabel offered with a shy look in his direction.  It was seldom that she wanted to be selfish, but perhaps letter writing was the one thing from the past she so desperately missed.  She hated how impersonal communication was in this time.  She missed the tangible proof of someone's thoughts in her hands.  

“Of course you want to write letters,” Bucky groaned dramatically.  “Ya know, that was the worst part of the war in my day.  I never know what to say.”

 “You just put down your thoughts.  Talk about what you've seen.  What you've done.  Tell me about the future.”

“We’re already in the future,” he chided and Mabel shrugged.  

“It's not tomorrow yet, is it?” she replied with a small smirk.  “Even ten minutes from now isn't promised to anyone.”

“But writing is so boring,” he complained with a huff.  The duo continued down the quiet corridor, undisturbed by anyone else in the compound.  

“I'll be staring at the same four walls, I will take _any_ adventure I can live vicariously through you with,” Mabel admitted quietly.  

“I'm beginning to think you're right.  You must truly love bitterness and sorrow.”  

“I strive to be transparent, Mr. Barnes,” she turned just in time to watch him open his mouth to correct her.  Instead he fell silent.  “When do you think you'll be back? 

“Tony mentioned something about getting everyone together for Christmas.  Though I'm not sure where,” he paused in thought.  “Maybe if we're lucky…”

“Even if I can handle life outside of this place, I'm not ready for New York,” Mabel's tone wavered and she clutched at her arm.  “It makes me feel a little childish, admittedly.  At least here everything is a gradual learning curve.” 

“You'll have to dive in eventually.  There's only so much a book can explain,” Bucky reasoned and the blonde let out a drawn out sigh.  

“My world was stopped at the end of a precipice that dove into where society is today,” she frowned and shook her head slightly.  “It's as foreign as another planet to me.” 

“It'll be okay.  We're all here to make sure you get there,” Steve's voice echoed toward the pair and soon enough the soldier joined the duo.  “I've been working with Tony and things aren't too different.  The foundation is still there- just a little more sparkle to it.”

 “Perhaps I should just return to Europe?  They age slower, do they not?  I'm sure the Eiffel tower looks the same.  I'd fit right in.”

“I'm seriously going to shove you in the snow,” Bucky groaned running a hair through his hair and snorting.  “You're worse than this melodramatic fool.”  He shoved a thumb in Steve's direction.  The American hero feigned innocence until Bucky started ahead of the two blondes with a huff.   

“He's just a product of the millennium, too good for nostalgia,” Steve teased under his breath before gesturing for Mabel to go ahead of him.  They went after their friend and ended up in the main living area where a handful of Avengers were lying about.   

“Anyone up for a shooting session?” Clint suggested once Bucky and the others joined the group.  His offer was met with a few shrugs and grunts, though Bucky was more than enthusiastic.  

“Yes.   _Please_.  Get me away from these saps,” he looked around for any other takers.  “Ah come on.  It's no fun with just Clint and I.”  

“Only if I can spar the loser,” Nat offered and when an agreement was made, the trio disappeared toward the elevators.  Sam and Bruce parted after a brief conversation and the flying Avenger stood at Mabel’s side. 

“And I believe _we_ have an appointment,” Sam nodded to her.  She gave an affirming smile in his direction and with a small wave to Steve, they headed toward their designated therapy area.   

Sam had opened up slightly once it became clear what they were working with.  He offered counseling to her, as he did to all the members of the team, though she was the only one who took him up on it regularly.

The therapy area was relatively secluded in the event of another meltdown.   An idea strongly supported by the majority of the team.   Steve later explained that everyone was prone to outbursts from time to time and though she was the primary reason behind its installation, it truly benefitted everyone.  

“Any more nightmares?” Sam asked before they settled into the sofas.   

“Yes,” Mabel replied.  She didn't even know what a full night of sleep felt like.  She probably hadn't had a dream since 1913.  

“What did you see?” He asked, digging around for his tablet that he stored near the sofas.  

“A kid about 17 getting shelled,” she replied dryly.  “And then just pieces of him.  A leg here, an arm there.”  Those had been the lucky parts.  Everything else had turned into a brownish, red mush of organs and mud that splattered around the trench and soldiers alike.  

“Real or fake?” Sam followed up, and Mabel paused in thought.  This was a new game that Tony suggests after talking with Wanda about what he been found in her head.  They needed to dig through what Hydra had planted and what was simply a cruel memory from the war. 

“- _Felt_ real,” she confessed, picking at her fingers.  “But we were in German uniforms.”

“Did you see anything similar during your time on the front?”  

“Of course I did,” she leaned into the sofa in irritation.  How was that even a question?  Did he not take American history?   He was a military man himself.  Did he not lose companions in violent and unusual ways?  “No one I knew died that way though.  Mustard gas or bullets usually took out the good ones.”

Sam’s eyebrows perked at the mention of the toxic chemical agent.  The _trigger_ word.

“Who’d you lose to the gas?” he asked, leaning forward, his tablet propped up in his lap. His full attention was on Mabel.  They both knew where this was leading without saying a word. 

“A lot of people,” she frowned.  She could feel her expression boxing up, her face falling into that emotionless mask. 

“A friend maybe?” he pressed, trying to dig the information out of her.  Mabel knew what she was supposed to be saying, but she felt like repeating that moment out loud would be too much to bear.  It’d make it realer than the montage that played in the back of her mind. 

“Steve’s father,” she stated, averting her gaze from the man across from her.  “He pushed through to the very end.  He wanted to see his wife and child.  They smoked him out like an animal.  He didn’t even look like a human when he left this world.”

“Do you feel guilty about his death?” Sam asked once Mabel got the information out and tightened her posture in her seat.  “Remorse?  Regret?  These feelings are completely normal when we lose someone.”

“He got gassed because of me.”

There it was.  The biggest weight that Mabel carried inside of her heart.  Every moment following Joseph’s death was tied to the night she and him were supposed to take down a nearby camp.  

“I was supposed to be his second, keeping an eye on the firefight and covering him.  _Only him._   But some kid got stabbed near me and I lost focus for a second.  I didn’t even see that the enemy had abandoned their camp until it was too late.  It was a set up.  He was hit with a high concentration and died a few days later.”

“He made his choice,” Sam gently reminded Mabel, but the woman’s expression remained empty.

“He made his choice with the understanding I would provide back-up,” she corrected softly.  “Unfortunately, sometimes people are to blame in things like this.  I’d agreed to give my all and lost concentration.  I didn’t fulfill my end of the deal.”

Sam’s expression softened with every word Mabel spoke, until finally, he voiced his opinion on the subject. 

“I lost a man too,” he confessed.  A flicker of pain shot through his body language and Mabel shifted slightly at the subtle change.  “I was back-up and an enemy target shot him right out of the sky.  I was too far away to do anything, and just close enough where I saw the last flickers of life in him.  I was supposed to be on the lookout for any stray militants on the ground.  I miscalculated and he suffered the consequences.”  

“I’m so sorry,” Mabel murmured.  She didn’t know what else to say.  Truly, she was terrible at handling circumstances such as this. 

“War is war,” he continued and leaned back into his chair.  “Steve still kicks himself over what happened to Bucky- and the guy literally lives down the hall from him.  Some of them are aching over recent losses, some are finally beginning to heal from scars caused by those they now look up to.  It’s going to keep hurting, but you can’t let the hurt and anger and confusion… you can’t let it take you down.  That’s how _they_ win.”

 _They_ being Hydra, she reminded herself silently.  Or _they_ being the ghosts that haunt her nights. 

The session continued for only a few moments more, before Sam received an urgent call and had to excuse himself.  Mabel glanced at a nearby clock and realized that they’d only spent half the usual amount of time in their session. 

She had a few hours to kill before she was supposed to meet up with Tony and Bruce to try one of the serums that had helped Bucky during his transition. 

Where had the others gone?

She mused the question over before remembering that Clint and Bucky were contesting one another in shooting.  From the stories she’d heard, it could be an interesting way to spend the remainder of her afternoon.

Would it be safe?  She wondered aimlessly, walking toward the direction of the training level.  No one was saying code words-  she’d seen plenty of war documentaries… It should be fine. 

A greedy voice in the back of her mind was curious if they’d let her have a try at a weapon.

* * *

“Clean shot,” Clint complimented the brunette with a short nod.  “But not clean enough.”

“ _Millimeters_ ,” Bucky complained with a grunt, glancing over at Nat, who was stretching for a sparring match with the shooting contest’s loser.  He threw an arm over his shoulder, beginning to prep for the match against the Russian spy. 

“I haven’t lost yet,” Clint replied with a smirk.  “Primarily because I have no intention of fighting _her_." 

“Because you know you’d hate to lose _twice_ ,” Natasha shot back, throwing a stray boxing glove in the direction of her partner. 

“One hundred percent accurate,” Clint admitted, catching the glove mid-air and setting it to the side.  “Though I wouldn’t mind fighting Mr. Barnes.”

“You just want to get close with me,” Bucky snorted in response, crawling into the ring and stretching his legs.

“You’re onto me, I just love big sweaty meatheads,” the archer laughed.  “Though probably not as much as _Miss Foster.”_ He said her name with a heavily exaggerated British accent, snickering at his own humor.

“I get the feeling Mae prefers men who are at least mostly made of flesh,” Bucky swung from Natasha’s legs and the redhead dodged the move with irritating grace.  “And probably closer in age.”

“I don’t know; how many centennials do you know?” Natasha smirked, wrapping her legs around Bucky’s waist and pulling him down.  The brunette rolled with the move and turned it against her, rolling her onto her back. 

“She and _Steve_ would make cute little blonde babies,” Clint noted casually. 

Bucky wasn’t sure why, but the comment tugged at him the wrong way and he threw Natasha a little harder than expected toward the edge of the ring.  He looked at her in horror and quickly helped her back up, but she responded by dropping him to the ground with a foot in his chest. 

He laid there a moment, staring up at the ceiling of the training room before a new set of footfalls entered the room. 

“I was under the impression he was one of the most feared assassins in the world?” he heard a familiar voice comment to Clint.  The archer snorted in laughter. 

She always sounded _so_ polite, despite the sarcasm and rude comments she let slip.  She could probably insult the pope and he wouldn’t even realize it.

“He’s just getting old,” Natasha commented.  “Besides, I think more people are afraid of _me_." 

“I know I certainly am,” Mabel confessed lightly, a small smile sent in the redhead’s direction.  Natasha crawled out of the ring and approached the blonde, sizing the smaller woman up and down. 

“You fight pretty well, at least in the brief moments of brainwashing I saw,” she noted and circled Mabel again.  “You wanna give it a shot?”

“ _No_ ,” Bucky voiced, immediately shooting up from his laying position.  “I think that’s a terrible idea." 

But the group continued their discussion, with Clint edging the soldier on, before finally, Mabel relented. 

Why did he even bother?  Bucky groaned, rolling off of the ring and approaching the group. 

“Do you even know how to throw a punch properly?” he asked exasperated, trying to convince the woman otherwise.  She narrowed her gaze in offense before throwing a perfectly formed punch into his chest. 

Bucky would never admit in a million years, but it nearly knocked him off balance.

“I don’t know Mr. Barnes, perhaps I should go back to my needlework,” she shook her head and pushed past him toward the ring where Natasha was now waiting.

“Girl fight!” Clint cheered mockingly, earning a less than polite gesture from Natasha, before the two women began to circle one another. 

Bucky watched silently while they continued circling the ring.  They both had a similar approach.  They were the same size roughly, and probably were used to handling much larger opponents. 

Mabel’s downfall, however, was that Natasha had a little more experience fighting other women. 

The redhead dove first, going for Mabel’s legs, but the blonde leapt up and rolled to the side, narrowly dodging the attack.  She used Nat’s confusion to tackle her from the side, but Natasha brought up an elbow and pushed the blonde off. 

“You fight dirty,” Natasha commented, wiping at some dripping sweat.  “I _like_ it.”

The redhead’s eyes were calculating, while Mabel’s hazel gaze was determined to take down the threat.

They collided again, this time Mabel winning the brief match.   It went on like this for a bit longer before Natasha was, once again, determined to be the winner. 

“My turn,” Clint announced once Natasha hopped out of the ring.  Mabel didn’t even have a chance to react before the archer was charging toward her. 

Their game was a dance of avoidance.  Mabel moved swiftly away from each of Clint’s attacks, trying to throw a blow in whenever she could.  Unfortunately, Clint was significantly more agile than the heiress, and managed a few more hits.

The fight ended with Mabel leaning against the ropes of the fighting ring trying to catch her breath and Clint rolling on the ground laughing about how they needed to get the kid in the field.

“Buck!  Your turn,” Clint rolled toward his friend excitedly.  Bucky shook his head firmly. 

“Not today,” he replied, sending a look in Mabel’s direction.  He expected a smile or an acknowledgement of sympathy, but instead the blonde grinned mischievously.

“It’s ok, it wouldn’t be very fair,” she shrugged and started toward the edge of the ring.  “He’s probably too tired.”

 _Goddamn_ it, she knew how to get under his skin.  He pulled his shirt off and tossed it at Clint.

“All right _grandma_ , let’s _go_.” Mabel beamed, cracking her knuckles.

When Clint announced the beginning of the fight, it occurred to Bucky right away that the enhanced woman had been holding back against her non-altered counterparts. 

There was _significantly_ more force behind each hit. 

He dropped her, she would subsequently bring him down to her level. 

She threw elbows and used knees, which normally would have been called on, but Clint wasn’t judging by competition rules.  This was a _fight_. 

Bucky caught her in the side of the mouth, drawing a little blood.  He paused in concern before she merely smirked, wiped it away and went for his torso. 

They stumbled to the ground, her pinning him down for just long enough for Clint to call her the winner. 

It was close- and if he hadn’t hesitated at seeing her hurt, he would have easily won.

Mabel lingered a moment, her elbows pinning down his chest, smiling in victory at the assassin. 

“You can move,” he grunted in irritation, but she dropped more weight down, pressing further into his sternum. 

“Make me,” she taunted quietly before he simply flipped her over onto her back.  He could hear her catch her breath before he pinned her shoulders down on the mat.

“You’re a pain sometimes, you know that right?” he muttered before jumping up and crawling out of the ring. 

She remained silent, her eyes trailing him on his walk back to Clint.  Natasha soon appeared at her side and helped the blonde back to her feet 

Why had he hesitated? Bucky ran through possible explanations all the way back to the shower. 

Sure, he’d drawn blood in his sparring partners before.  Shit, he’d probably made Steve bleed more than a hundred times, yet seeing it on Mabel made his mind go haywire.

He turned the water in the training shower as hot as possible, hoping the burning sensation would help clear his mind and give him answers.

* * *

 

 **France- January 1918**  

“We’ve located the German scientist; a local family was hiding him in their crawlspace,” Meyer nudged a pale faced woman, and three children forward.  “What should we do with them?”

Mabel looked the family over for a brief moment before shaking her head.  They’d seen better days, though she couldn’t understand their choice in aiding an enemy so cruel and manipulative. 

“Treason is punishable by death,” she merely commented.  There wasn’t a single hint of hesitation in her tone.  “They were assisting a mass murderer.”

The mother dropped to her knees and began to beg for the lives of herself and her children; but Mabel turned on the boot of her heel and started back toward the regime waiting ahead.

“Meyer, you have your orders,” she stated with icy finality.  She barely flinched when the gunshots echoed across the snow covered meadow.  Quick and painless.  Hunger probably would have killed most of the children by the end of winter anyway. 

Meyer jogged to catch up, his pace lining up with Mabel’s almost identically. 

“A little cruel, don’t you think?” he asked quietly.  Mabel stopped in her tracks and looked him over with a narrowed gaze.

“Their interference allowed Hans to go undetected an additional month and a half,” she reminded him.  “That’s a month and a half of loss time- a month and a half of information we could be pulling from him about their _grand_ project.”

Meyer fell silent and shuffled ahead toward the squad.  The men avoided eye contact with Mabel once she approached.  

“We need to get to Amiens by nightfall,” she ordered and the soldiers began to move, dragging along a stumbling Dr. Hans behind their carts. 

 _Joseph would have reasoned that she shown the family mercy_ , a small voice whispered in the back of her head.  She kept marching along the road, adjusting her rifle strap slightly. 

_But Joseph is dead and I am not._

* * *

 


	8. Daddy Lessons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellloooooo. 
> 
> I'm surprisingly productive today! Enjoy another treat!
> 
> I'll be responding to comments later tonight :) 
> 
> Thank you all for your amazing support.

**“Here's what you do**  
**When trouble comes to town**  
**And men like me come around**  
**Oh, my daddy said shoot.”**

**_-_ Beyonce ft. Dixie Chicks _(Daddy Lessons)_**

* * *

 

** Upstate New York- 1904 **

“Stop crying and focus on your target,” Maxwell knelt down next to his twelve-year-old daughter and adjusted her rifle.  “Either way- you, that rabbit, me and everyone around us is going to die eventually.  That rabbit will probably be snatched up by a hawk rather than dying of old age.  Wouldn’t you want to end it quickly?” 

Mabel sniffled back another tear, wiping at her cheek with a laced sleeve.  She nodded to her father hesitantly.

“Besides, who’s going take care of Jonah and your mama while I’m out of town?  You have to be my strong little girl,” he ruffled the top of Mabel’s blonde hair before pointing down the field.  “Now _shoot_.” 

* * *

 

With Bucky gone, Mabel had a lot more time to dedicate to digging through the piles of history texts and files that had accumulated around the compound.

She wanted to learn about everything she’d missed while under the ice. 

She listened to Elvis, she watched the “I Have a Dream Speech”, she pulled up videos from Vietnam. 

She watched the Twin Towers be built and subsequently knocked down.  She watched a president resign, be impeached and assassinated. 

Tony would join her occasionally and explain some of the backstory of each event. 

It took her a little longer to move through World War II than she would have expected.  

Certainly Tony and the others had filled her in on the major elements; Steve and Bucky’s contributions, Stark’s role, what the fight was even about…

But when she saw Jonah’s name on a military list and the news articles and the Foster department stores shutting down to assist with war production, it got a little more real for her. 

The Fosters had continued with their lives.  Time moved on and Mabel’s fate was lost to time.  There was a brief period in the 1930s when the family tried to track her down, but only found imposters trying to get their hands on the vast fortune they possessed. 

Mabel’s stomach did a turn once she read through Jonah’s children and who’d been lost in the second World War.

She was supposed to have been there.  Her own children were supposed to have helped the effort and pushed America to victory.  Perhaps her own son could have saved Steve and Bucky from their seemingly immortal fates?

Mabel found herself trying to translate rough Russian and German through files that Tony eventually handed over about the Winter Soldier program.  She took extensive notes, dedicating equal time learning as much about Bucky and Steve as she did to the men who created them.

 Occasionally a name would pop up that she vaguely recognized, and she’d note it, preferring to do a little research on the subject later. 

There were a few pieces of missing information that Mabel didn’t necessarily bring up to Tony.  She knew the team was hiding a slew of secrets, from here, from each other; it came with the nature of the business. 

But Mabel needed truth if she was ever going to move forward in this world. 

And that truth started and ended with the day she was captured in the field by Hydra. 

The military records were easy enough to track down- she was reported MIA by French forces on August 14th, 1918 in Northern Germany.  Mabel could remember her mission vividly, she knew where she had been instructed to go, who she’d been instructed to kill, and how it all went to hell in about thirty seconds.

She scanned over the faded paperwork, noting the areas where information had been redacted for security’s sake- yet she knew the information it contained.  

The German scientists were in a panic.  Before America had joined into the fray they’d pretty much been assured victory in the conflict, so they’d gotten a little sloppy.  

By the end of 1918, rumors circulated of weapons so destructive and violent, they put the gasses and cannons that’d been created, to shame.

Even by today’s standards and with her present knowledge of nuclear warfare, the schematics and information they’d stolen from enemy troops put _modern_ weapons to shame. 

It was lucky that it never came to fruition, and probably had just been lost to the sands of time like she had been.  The weapon never came up in her research, so she assumed it’d disappeared or been destroyed.

Mabel flipped through the letter of condolences to Marie on the “death” of her older brother.  Mabel’s belongings had been shipped to Marie Garnier, and that was the end of Pierre Garnier’s journey in Europe. 

But Mabel found some interesting information on Peter Gardiner in New York. 

He’d eventually married the daughter of an oil tycoon.  They took over the business for some time before investing in the automotive industry and retiring in Quebec.  They had a few kids, and to live out his days, he moved back to Paris to be close with his nameless sister, who was sick with cancer.

Marie Garnier passed away in 1954.  She kept Pierre and Mabel’s secret to the grave, perhaps only bringing it up as a passing comment to her brother during her last days on earth. 

Pierre eventually passed away in 1998, leaving six children, eighteen grandchildren, and six great-grandchildren and two great-great-grandchildren.  He was buried in the family plot in the grave marked for Mabel, that had quietly disappeared a few decades before his death. 

In Brooklyn, apparently, there was a statue in a small park dedicated to Jonah Foster’s lost sister, Mabel Foster. 

And that was that. 

Mabel wondered if Pierre and Marie’s children had hung onto any memorabilia that Mabel sent to the duo throughout the course of the war.  In particular, a handful of letters that Joseph Rogers had entrusted her in the event of his death.  Things like letters that she suddenly felt the overwhelming need to share with Steve. 

If Marie had received Mabel’s belongings, she certainly would have gotten the cache of letters.  Mabel had been careful with storing them, waiting until she was certain she’d be able to send them without war monitors disrupting the messages contained within them.

Unfortunately, Mabel was taken before she’d been able to send them to Sarah Rogers.

A quick internet search revealed that the Garnier’s were still located in Paris. 

Mabel studied the map of the city and frowned.  The avenues had shifted slightly and she wasn’t as familiar with the side of town they currently resided as she should have been. 

Mabel Foster was going to need help.

As if a beacon from above, the tablet that Tony had lent her chimed with an incoming video call from Bucky Barnes.

She quickly answered, greeting her friend with more gusto than usual. 

“You seem happy,” he commented after they chatted about their days and projects they’d been working on.  Things had apparently been quiet in the city. 

“That’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” she admitted quietly, looking away from the camera to grab a piece of paper.  “How familiar are you with Paris? 

“Modern Paris?  Or 1942 Paris?” he questioned, a brow arching in slight confusion.  Mabel mumbled under her breath and dug through a stack of papers, a stray hair falling across her fate. 

“Either or-,” she confirmed with a small nod.  “I need someone to navigate me.”

“To Paris?” he asked in clarification.  Mabel nodded urgently.  “You weren’t kidding about returning to Europe.”

“This is important,” she insisted quickly.  “I wouldn’t even consider it if it didn’t involve something near and dear to me.”

“Nostalgia for the country side?” Bucky teased but Mabel shook her head.

“Letters for Steve from his father,” she replied firmly. 

Bucky’s entire demeanor shifted at the sentence.  He paused, glanced over his shoulder and leaned into the camera.

“How sure are you?” he questioned lightly.  Mabel gave a small shrug. 

“I can’t be positive, if that’s what you’re asking, but my belongings were sent to a relative of Pierre’s,” she explained.  “Perhaps they still have them?  I tracked down the remainder of the Garnier’s and they’re primarily in Paris and New York.”

“And you wanted to start in Paris as opposed to New York because-?” he asked, trying to wrap his mind around the bizarre mission his friend was proposing. 

Mabel couldn’t blame him, the logic was a bit of a stretch, but the way she saw it Marie had received the items in _Paris_.  Anyone following her death would have been in _Paris_.

She walked him through and he frowned in thought. 

“All right,” he conceded.  “Only because it’s been slow and I know Clint’s itching for a flight.”

“I don’t think the others will be open to letting me cross international boarders…” Mabel noted with a sigh.  That was the biggest flaw in her plan.  Tony and Bruce played nice, but she knew that the minute she tried to walk out of the compound, all chaos would break loose. 

“So we need to _sneak_ into Paris?” he half-whispered.  Mabel stared expectantly into the camera.  She didn’t really feel the need to spell it out, but between the pair of them, there shouldn’t be difficulty in slipping away without being found for a week, _tops_.

“Who are you willing to tell?” he asked, knowing exactly where he train of thought was leading. 

“ _You_ ,” she replied before she heard a rustle behind her shoulder.  “Someone’s coming.  Think about it?”

“You’re insane,” was Bucky’s parting comment before the video link was cut short.

* * *

Mabel Foster could probably convince Bucky to rob the national treasury if the thought passed her mind.  She was so damned determined to get her way in things that Bucky kind of admired her, and went for the ride.  That's probably how Pierre got dragged into this whole mess in the first place. 

Today, Bucky was meeting Mabel on the outskirts of the city at a rest stop in New Jersey.

She’d hitched her way from upstate, stripped clothes twice, mugged a truck driver and found her way to the rest stop an hour earlier than they’d planned. 

Her hair was pulled up into a pink beanie, a grey scarf wrapped tightly around her face.  Her gaze carefully scanned the crowds of families that shuffled in and out of the stop through the snow. 

It was a risky move, knowing that both of their activities were heavily monitored by a significant number of government entities due to their threat levels, but Mabel had been determined and Bucky went along for the ride to watch out for her.

Or so he told himself. 

“Looking a little cold,” he teased, resting an arm on top of her head.  Mabel jumped at the touch and shot a glare in his direction.  He chuckled, pulling his collar up a little when a pair of state troopers walked into the small building. 

“You have everything right?” she asked quietly, eyeing Bucky’s jacket pockets.  He sent a nod toward the outside of the building where snow was beginning to pick up.

"Yeah,” he replied once they were a safe distance away from anyone who might be listening. “Everything _except_ a ride.”

Mabel nodded and watched the state troopers through the window of the rest stop structure.  They were debating between two bags of chips in the vending machine. 

“We need to get to the airport right?” she questioned and he hummed in acknowledgement.  “Give me five minutes.”

She started toward the building, her footfalls becoming more frantic before she approached the payphone and began to dial a number. 

Bucky watched an impressive display through the window.  Her expression shifted from panic to hysterics, where he was almost certain he saw a tear fall down her cheek before she hung up the phone. 

 _That_ had caught the officer’s attention. 

Which to Bucky, sent a number of warning bells off in his head.  He started toward the building until he saw one of the officer’s lean over and say something to the distressed Mabel.  Her expression lightened and she pointed toward where he stood in the snow. 

The group started outside, with Mabel leading the way.

“They offered to give us a ride to the airport,” Mabel exclaimed, _really_ pushing the mix between excited and previously distraught.  She gave a small sniffle and blinked up at him.  “Max is going to be so relieved.  We can get a taxi home from there, right?” 

The officers were looking at him now and suddenly it occurred to Bucky what she was doing. 

Hiding in plain sight. 

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” he agreed with a smile, pulling her a little closer.  “Let’s get you out of the snow before you catch a cold.”

Mabel let out a contented hum and the group made their way toward the police car where she chatted happily about how her brother was coming to town and they were going to take a day trip to the city. 

“Gotta see Stark Tower,” one of the officer’s suggested.  “They do this walking tour of the first few levels and sometimes, I hear, you can see an Avenger.”

“That’s bull man,” the second officer chimed up.  “Stick to traditional tourist traps; Ellis island, the museums, maybe a Sex and the City walking tour?  You into that show?  My wife won’t shut up about it.”

“She’s practically member of their brunch group,” Bucky laughed into the conversation, giving Mabel a nudge.  “Won’t leave me alone if it’s on.  Nearly missed the Super Bowl for a rerun last year.”

The second officer gave a snort of agreement to the brunette’s comments while Mabel looked at him in confusion.  He was going to get a lecture once she figured out what they’d been talking about, but for now, he’d have his fun.

The drive continued fairly uneventfully, as the airport was fairly close to the rest stop the duo had met in.  The officers dropped them off at the arrivals gate before parting with a wave. 

Mabel stared in awe at the structure that loomed around them.

It occurred to Bucky while they moved through the crowds toward the departures section of the airport that Mabel had probably never seen an airplane in her life. 

At least a modern one that wasn’t held together with literal cords.

He led the way, paying for their tickets and helping her through security by passing her the passport he’d crafted for her. 

Once through the security checkpoint, he went to one of the nearby shops and bought two pieces of luggage and stuffed them with a few necessities for their trip.  After arriving through customs in France, he figured it’d be strange if they traveled across the ocean with nothing.  

Mabel remained quiet the entire process, watching his every movement with an unnerving gaze. 

Finally, they’d settled at the gate and Bucky leaned back into one of the leather chairs.  He pulled his hat off and looked over at the blonde, who was still watching him with that gaze. 

“What?” he finally asked.  Honestly, he wasn’t expecting a direct answer, at least from his previous experiences with the women on his team. They were all so damn elusive about things. 

Instead, Mabel pulled her scarf off and shook her head.

“I underestimated you,” she replied bluntly, relaxing into the chair.  She left it at that, urging Bucky to dig for a long answer from her.

“What do you mean?  I was a spy for decades,” he narrowed his brows at the woman and she looked over at him with a half-smile. 

“You were a _weapon_ for decades,” she pointed out.  “Bucky Barnes was inherently the spy.  Or did Hydra teach you how to flirt with the shop employee to get us a discount?”

“You’re one to talk,” he grunted, folding his arms across his chest. 

“How so?” she questioned, actual amusement on her features.

“You’ve never even seen an airplane and you managed to get your way across New York, carpooled with two cops and a formerly wanted criminal, and we still haven’t been caught,” he laughed.  “We could probably topple governments if we wanted.”

“I think you’re confusing survival with malicious intent,” she pointed out coolly.  “That’s probably why you’re so good at what you do.  You’ve had to survive for nearly a century.” 

She seemed content with her own explanation for his behavior, her attention drifting to the newspaper she’d grabbed from the seat next to her. 

The front page blared the latest news, threats from Hydra, political scandals, and what Tony Stark wore to the White House last week. 

“Everyone’s _still_ trying to kill each other,” she laughed before passing the paper to her companion.  “I should probably become a side-show psychic with how repetitive things are.  I’d make a pretty penny.”

Bucky glanced over the news and noted a section about an ambassador being assassinated in disputed territory in the Middle East. 

“Eh, we’ve never had the Avengers though,” he offered up and before Mabel could comment on the topic, the gate announced that seating was open for passengers. 

He grabbed both of their bags and led the way, offering a small passage for Mabel to take a seat before him in the first class section of the jet.  Easy on, easy off.  Even if they get caught after landing, they’d be able to escape without too much trouble.

She looked out the airplane’s window and frowned, slowly closing the shade and staring forward.

“Our estimated flight time is…” the captain began to ramble on while the plane pulled away from the airport to prepare for take-off.  Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky could see Mabel shaking slightly at the jarring movements of the machine. 

Absently, he reached over and took her hand into his lap, giving it a small squeeze of comfort while the engine’s around them roared to life. 

Mabel’s eyes were sealed shut during the plane’s initial accent into the air, and until the flight was stable, she didn’t move an inch. 

“It’s safe,” Bucky muttered quietly.  “Mae, I promise.” 

Her eyes snapped open and she quickly pulled her hand back into her lap.

“Yes, of course,” she nodded before looking around scrambling at her seatbelt.  “Restroom?  Where is the- oh, there it is…”

She moved around her partner and disappeared around the corner of the aisle into the bathroom.  It took her longer than Bucky would have expected, and when she finally did return, her face was paled and her forehead was covered in sweat. 

“Are you all right?” he asked, genuinely concerned for the smaller woman.  She shrugged off his worries and leaned back, her eyes shut once again. 

The plane gave a sudden jerk and he could vaguely hear Mabel mumbling to herself. 

“If you’re scared, it’s fine,” he continued, repositioning slightly to face her directly.  “I can distract you until you fall asleep.  Or something.”

She gave a bitter laugh at the suggestion, her head still tilted back.

The plane gave another shudder and her hand reached for his desperately, her fingers clutching around his for dear life. 

“Are they always this bumpy?” she asked through staggered breaths.  “This doesn’t seem very safe.”

“It’s probably the safest means of travel,” Bucky leaned in and smirked.  “I can’t believe you’d be scared of this little things when I’m sure you’ve probably jumped off of bridges and buildings.”

“Only once,” she mumbled.  “They’re a lot closer to the ground than this.”

“If we crash, I’ll protect you,” he promised with a grin.  He patted his left and shrugged.  “Thing has gotta be good for something right?”

“You really think that would stand between us and thousands of pounds of steel and jet fuel?” her eyes flickered open at the thought. 

“I guess we’ll have to find out,” he replied casually.  It occurred to him that she’d been hanging onto his hand the entire conversation, occasionally squeezing it when the plane gave a jump or a shudder. 

It also occurred to him that he didn’t necessarily mind it.

 

* * *

 

** August 1918 **

The ship lurched and Mabel struggled against the ropes that bound her wrists above her head.

They called him the Doctor.  That was it.  _The Doctor._

Doctor of _what_?  Mabel had no idea, but she was certain she was going to find out soon. 

He just stood in the corner, sharpening a blade over and over, occasionally glancing in her direction and grinning.

The ship gave another lurch, shifting some of the cargo that was stacked nearby.  The Doctor stood up and walked toward the former soldier, his hand lifting her chin to examine her face closer. 

“You’re beautiful,” he commented in French, a thick Russian accent surprising the woman.  “Too pretty to be caught in this mess.  Tell me, why did you become a soldier?" 

Mabel remained silent, fighting back the tears that threatened to expose the fear that crippled her internally. 

“Do you not understand me?” he questioned before stating something in Russian, then German.

“English then?” he asked, smirking in satisfaction at the young woman’s startled expression.  “You understand me now?  Why did you join this wasteful war?  I would give my arm to marry a woman as beautiful as you.”

She stared at him, defiant in the only way she knew- her silence.

“You can make this a lot easier for yourself.  I am not a cruel man,” he gestured around him before taking his knife and cutting Mabel’s wrist free.  “I’m sent for answers and I’d rather not hurt beautiful women.”

“My father was killed,” she tried in English.  “I wanted vengeance.”

“You wore a French uniform, yes?” he nodded to the pants she was allowed during her imprisonment.

“It was easiest to slip in without papers,” she lied.  The man’s expression shifted and he jumped at her, a knife to her throat. 

“You will not lie to me,” he growled, the blade barely nicking her neck and drawing a thin line of blood. 

Mabel swallowed and stumbled backwards onto the floor of the rocking boat. 

“My friend gave me papers, I posed as him,” she continued, trying to remain as vague as possible. 

“What is your name child?” he asked, touching the tip of his knife to his finger. 

“Marie,” she lied, the name choking out faster than her own birth name.  “Marie Miller.” 

She didn’t even see him move.  But in seconds he had her wrist between his hands and he drew a line from her elbow to her shoulder.  She saw the blood before she felt the pain. 

A burning, that he later explained, came from a chemical he doused the metal with. 

Fortunately, her own screams drowned out his words as the interrogation progressed and time slipped away through bouts of unconsciousness and pain.

 

* * *

 


	9. Devil's Backbone

**"Give me the burden, give me the blame**  
**I’ll shoulder the load, and I’ll swallow the shame**  
**Give me the burden, give me the blame**  
**How many, how many Hail Marys is it gonna take?"**

**-The Civil Wars (Devil's Backbone)**

* * *

  **1914- Brooklyn- October 12th, 1914**

 

Mabel’s frantic knocks were finally responded to when Sam’s older sister peered through the cracked door.   

“Oh, Mabel,” she let out a long held breath and opened the door a little wider.  “I was worried… It’s so late, what are you doing here?”

Theresa O’Brien had been the second breadwinner behind Samuel after their father died a few years previously of consume.  She looked exhausted, her normally bright blue eyes sunken into her face.  

“Samuel…” Mabel couldn’t get the words out, instead sputtering his name and looking to the slightly older woman in dismay.

The woman looked into the street behind Mabel and frowned.  

“I’m not sure this is the appropriate time to talk about it,” she replied, her voice gentle but weary at an unspoken fear.  “Come to my work tomorrow.”

“Theresa, I can’t I-,” Mabel tried to voice the jumbled thoughts in her mind.  She needed comfort but the O’Brien girl just looked scared.

“Mabel I’m sorry, but I need to go,” she eyed the carriage Mabel arrived in suspiciously.  “You need to leave.   _Goodbye_." 

The door was slammed shut and Mabel was left standing dumbfounded on the front perch of the tattered building. 

Pierre appeared at her side and Mabel shrugged him off, mumbling that she needed a walk and would meet up with him later.  When he began to protest, Mabel turned on her heel and shouted at him to leave her be.  

 The hurt look on his face would haunt Mabel for decades to come.   

He finally retreated and Mabel rounded into an alleyway, staring up at the unfamiliar bricks that surrounded her.  

“No!  You cannae have this,” a female voice shouted toward the end of the alley.  Mabel stepped closer, her curiosity getting the better of her.  " _Please_."

“Do you want to die today?” a male voice growled at the woman.  “Hand it over!”

“Excuse me!” Mabel shouted, stepping toward the would-be mugger.  “Who the hell do you think you are?”

The man whirled around and trained a pistol at Mabel’s chest and she froze. 

“You’re gonna wanna turn around and go back where you came from.  This don’t concern you,” he snarled in response.   

“Let her alone!” Mabel hissed, taking another step forward boldly.  “You want money don’t you?  Here.”  She pulled off a gold bracelet and threw it at the thieve’s feet.  “Leave before my husband finds you.”

The man eyed the piece of jewelry a moment before grabbing it and scrambling out of the alleyway.  Apparently the gold trinket was worth more than whatever he’d intended to steal from the young woman.   

“Thank you,” the woman breathed in relief.  She readjusted to her full height and pulled the woman into an embrace.  “It was the first time I’d been paid in weeks, and my husband needed the money for our apartment…”  She pulled away and held Mabel’s hands, trembling slightly.   

“Here,” Mabel whispered and wrapped her scarf around the woman’s neck, bundling it under the thin jacket the woman wore.  “I’m Mabel.”

“Sarah,” the woman replied.  “I cannae thank you enough, truly.”  She stepped back and pulled her jacket back, revealing a small baby-bump.  “Our first,” she beamed.

“Congratulations,” Mabel forced the smile, grimacing inside knowing that she’d never have that happiness with Sam.  “Did you need me to walk you home?  It’s dangerous to be alone at night.”

“I should be sayin’ the same to you,” Sarah frowned.  “I should be fine, my apartment is just across the way.”

“My husband had to stop at a friend’s home,” Mabel lied.  “I promised him I wouldn’t stray far.  I’ll go straight to him.”

“You’re an angel Mabel,” Sarah smiled.  “Thank you.”

“Get home to your husband and stay warm,” Mabel replied firmly before the small Irish woman darted off down the road.  Mabel watched her until she disappeared from sight and leaned against the bricks of the building.

 _When had the world become so violent?_  She mused, a newspaper post in front of her flapping in the breeze.  Everything was war and death and pain.

But not for Sarah, she reminded herself.  Not tonight, at least.

And that’s when Mabel had an idea so terrible, it almost ensured she’d be reunited with Samuel.

* * *

“What do you mean you lost them?” Steve furrowed his brow at the genius.  “They were miles apart in two of the most secure buildings in the world.”   

“I'm not perfect, as much as I brag that I am,” Tony threw his hands up after reviewing the security footage for the hundredth time.  “Clearly I need to crazy Hydra agent-proof everything.”

“So you have no idea where they went,” Steve clarified after the brunette sulked into his chair.  

“Not a clue,” he pulled up a map and pointed to two marks.  “She went toward the city, then poof!  Gone.  He went around the city a few times before _also_ disappearing.”   

“You didn’t tag them?” Clint leaned over the computer monitor and arched a brow at the billionaire.  

“Spangles wouldn’t let me,” he grumbled with a glare at the blonde in question.  

“They’re humans, not cattle,” Steve replied firmly.  “And knowing Bucky, he’s probably just making sure Mae stays in one piece.  He would have told me if he was leaving for good.”

“Would he have?” Tony questioned.  “Or maybe they’re both activated and trying to track down the remnants of Hydra?”

“ _That_ got dark fast,” Natasha walked into the room and waved away the monitors from view.  “I’m willing to be Foster got nostalgic and Barnes, with his little crush, went along for the ride.”

“That sounds more like Buck,” Steve noted with a nod toward his friend.  “I bet they’ll be back, or at least reaching out soon enough.  I don’t know what anyone expected with locking Mae in that compound like a circus animal.”

“Didn’t work for _me_ ,” Wanda voiced with a laugh and Tony snorted before leaving the room in a huff.  

“How much do you wanna bet?” Clint asked, appearing at Steve’s side with a grin.  “Because I’m willing to wager they blow something up before we hear from them.”

“I want in on this,” Sam jumped up from the sofa and the heroes, much to Steve’s hesitation, hashed out the details of the bet.

* * *

Screams and monsters from the shadows; familiar echoes of the souls who’d once begged for his mercy.

Bucky was defenseless while they grabbed at him, demanding repayment for the deeds of his past.  Slowly, he was smothered by the figures, gasping for air until-

“ _Bucky_ ,” a soft, feminine voice called out.

“ _Bucky Barnes_.”

His eyes shot open, revealing a familiar silhouette perched on the side of his bed.  The shadow pulled back after realizing he was awake.

“I was worried,” she muttered, relocating to a nearby armchair sheepishly.  Mabel pulled her legs to her chest and watched the brunette regain his bearings in the small rented room.  “How bad was it?”

Bucky frowned, running a hand through his sweat drenched hair.  It’d been pretty bad.  Worse than he’d had in quite some time, certainly since he’d come back from Wakanda.  

“Overwhelming,” he replied, throwing the remaining sheets off of his body.  He trudged toward the bathroom and turned on the sink, running the water cold before splashing his face.  

Bucky knew he wasn’t perfect, and in no way was he cured of whatever Hydra did to his mind… but these nightmares were an intensity that he hadn’t felt in years.  

He barely heard Mabel approach and lean against the doorway, an oversized ‘I Love New York’ tee shirt and a pair of men’s sweats swallowing her figure.  It was almost comical mixed with that icy gaze of hers.  

“How many?” she quietly asked, matching his eye line through the mirror.  Bucky grabbed a musty hand towel from the nearby rack and wiped at his face.  

“How many what?” he asked, tossing the towel aside and moving back toward the room.  Mabel moved aside silently.  He could feel those eyes track his every movement.  

“How many people have you killed?” the question came out more blunt than it seemed Mabel intended, and she backed down slightly, repositioning herself across from him in her chair, but her eyes trained on her lap.  “You were shouting names in your sleep.”  

Bucky remained silent, staring at the dark corner of the room at the foot of his bed.  Hadn’t she initially been sleeping on the small cot instead of him?  His mind tried to veer away from the question the young woman presented, but he pulled his train of thought back.

“A lot,” he dropped into the pillows and counted the cracks in the ceiling.  How many times had he run through that list of targets in his folder?  He knew every name that’d been on Hydra’s list. 

“I’m around ninety-six,” she voiced.  “I didn’t know their names though.  Lots of faces…  I wish I knew how to draw sometimes.  I’ve been trying to figure out which ones were _official_ and which ones were _projects_ for Hydra.”

“You’ll make yourself crazy if you start overthinking it,” he merely commented.   

“Are you crazy?” he could hear her trying to mask the amusement in her tone.  “Because I’m willing to wager there’s some ghosts lingering in your heart.”   

“Haven’t you heard?  My heart is ice cold, S _oldat d’Hiver_ , remember?” he smirked at the name she’d called him during one of their first conversations after she'd woken.  

Mabel frowned and stood up hovered over him a moment, freezing in place as if contemplating her next move.   Bucky rolled his head toward her, his expression shifting to curiosity at the woman’s bizarre actions.   

Finally, she moved forward and pressed her palm into his chest, precisely where his heart was.  

Leaning closer, she rested her head on his sternum, closing her eyes while Bucky stilled at the unexpected touch.  The warmth from her body stirred something in his chest that he hadn’t felt in quite some time.  He could feel his breath hitch, and he silently prayed she hadn’t heard it. 

“It doesn’t sound frozen to me,” she whispered, pulling away and lingering a few inches from his face, studying it slowly.  Her hand remained in place, feeling every peak and valley of his pulse before she stood back up and retreated to her chair.  “And I’d like to think we have a bit of experience with frozen organs.”

“Your jokes are terrible,” he complained with a groan, rolling back on his side before remembering his mental tangent from earlier.  “Also if I recall, _I_ was the one sleeping in the chair.”

“You needed the sleep more than I did,” she gave a small shrug of her shoulders.  “Certainly you would have done the same?”

“I did do the same thing,” he sat up and gave a stretch.  “That’s why I put _you_ in the bed.”  

“I’m not tired,” Mabel frowned stubbornly.  “And you travelled the whole way without sleep.  A few more hours of rest would not be detrimental to our mission.   _Sleep_.”

“You _sound_ like a commanding officer,” Bucky laughed, dropping back down on the small bed.  It gave a creak of protest before he rolled on his side, facing Mabel.  “You must have scared those boys shit-less.”  

She gave a grin and readjusted herself, propping her legs on a nearby table. 

“They were scared in general, looking back,” she sighed.  “I’m sure my actions didn’t help.  I did get the majority of them out of it alive though.  At least according to final discharges after the treaty was signed.”

Bucky chuckled.  She was trying to be modest about her accomplishments.

“You are the strangest dame I’ve ever come across,” he laughed, turning onto his back and throwing his flesh arm over his eyes.  

“Is that such a terrible thing?” she asked after a heartbeat of silence.  

“Not at all.”

* * *

Since the pair had arrived late into the night, walking through Paris during the day was something else entirely to the centenarian.

Everything felt so familiar and yet so foreign.  The sights and smells were _so_ close to Mabel’s memories, yet a subtle detail would bring her crashing back to the present.  

Bucky primarily led the way, looking to Mabel for street names.  Mabel was impressed with his memory as the super soldier navigated without any use of a map.  

Their first stop was for nostalgia’s sake.  

They paused in front of a boarded-up building.  The architecture and paint looked like it hadn’t been updated in decades, and perhaps that was the case.

Mabel stepped forward and grabbed at the closest board, pulling it from the nails with relative ease.  She ducked through a crack and made her way inside, instructing Bucky to remain at watch until she returned.  

Her first step into the abandoned apartment was met with a wave of dust that left her coughing.  

When it finally settled, she pulled a flashlight out of her pocket and scanned it around the darkened room.  The wallpaper never changed, she realized, running her hand over the olive green texture.  There were permanent discolorations that indicated where portraits once hung.   

Mabel could almost picture the room, fully furnished with Marie Garnier fussing around her sewing table.

She wandered over to where the small kitchen had been.  The cabinets had been repainted a different color since Mabel had last been there, though the layout still looked the same.  The stove had been replaced over time, though the updated model had seen better days. 

For a morbid reason, Mabel began to search through the various drawers and cabinets.  It was ridiculous- any remaining treasures had to have long been taken by Pierre and his relatives.   

Yet when she reached into the cabinet over the sink, a piece of glass caught her hand and she pulled back.  Standing on her toes, she flashed her light in and caught a glimmer of an ornate frame.  She reached back in and gripped the corner, pulling the object loose.  

Shaking off broken glass, she stared at the decidedly aged photo and bit back the wave of emotion that hit her in the chest.  

It was the black and white photo of her and Pierre that her mother had planned to send to the Times.  

The years had been harsh on the picture, but the glass and cabinet had protected it relatively well from the elements.  

Mabel stood staring at the photo- her fingertips running over the frozen image of Pierre’s stern gaze at the camera.  She wished so much that the camera had caught the intricate colors in Pierre’s red hair, or the violet of the dress her mother had insisted upon.

“I don’t think anyone even lives on this street anymore,” Bucky’s voice drifted toward the kitchen and Mabel could hear his footfalls carefully stepping through the rubble.  “You find something?”

Mabel snapped back to attention and help up her treasure, wiping at the tears that had spilled over involuntarily.  Bucky didn’t notice, or at least didn’t comment on it, and instead reached for the aged photograph.  

“Who’s the stiff?” he questioned, pointing to Pierre.

“That’s the _real_ Pierre Garnier,” she replied softly.  

“Wow,” he examined the photo closer.  “You’re _much_ prettier than he was.”  He flashed her a grin while Mabel snorted under her breath and continued forward toward the bedroom in the back.  

The wooden floor of the apartment needed to be navigated carefully as termites and mold hadn’t been as favorable to the older base as it they’d been to the cabinets. 

The bedroom was empty like the living area, though the shadows left by time gave a general idea of how the furniture had been arranged.   

This was the room that Marie had cut Mabel’s hair the night before she’d enlisted.  

She stepped toward the discolored portion of the room where Marie’s large mirror had sat and reached forward to touch the outline.  It took one misplaced foot and suddenly Mabel was swallowed by darkness.

She hit the ground with a painful thud, not realizing that she’d let out a short of surprise until Bucky peered through the small hole in the floor. 

“Are you ok?” he questioned, kneeling and leaning into the hole.   

“I’m in one piece,” she clarified, searching around for her light before asking Bucky to toss down his.  She flipped the switch on and had to suppress a gasp.  “ _Bucky…_ you need to get down here.”  

Paintings, books, statues, and other treasures lined the walls of the small crawl space.  

Bucky slid through the hole and landed softly, picking up Mabel’s flashlight and flicking it on.  He let out a low whistle.  

“She must have hidden these when the Germans were in the city,” he noted after studying a nearby portrait.  “These have to be priceless… And in great shape too… ” he trailed off on a commentary of every picture he examined.

Mabel’s attention, however, had been pulled away by a large armoire tucked in the back of the room.  She pulled at the handles before realizing it had been sealed shut with a small lock.  

Ah well, Mabel thought to herself after a quick glance around the room for a key.  Marie would be able to chastise her in death.  

She gave the door a firmer tug and the lock snapped free, allowing Mabel access to the closet’s contents.  

And there was a significant amount.   

Piles of letters, notes, and diaries poured out into the floor.   

Marie Garnier had saved every piece of correspondence she’d received in her life up until the German occupation.  This armoire had been the french woman’s time capsule.  

“Help me pick these up,” she called to Bucky urgently and he knelt down, shuffling through the papers with his flashlight in his mouth.  Occasionally he would pause and skim through a letter, noting the date or an event detailed.  Mabel was digging through the stacks of records until her hands hit a wooden box tucked in the back.

Mabel tried to quell her beating heart as she pulled the box out and placed it on the floor.  

She didn’t want to get her hopes up, the chances of it being the same box were slim enough, but if Marie had actually kept the letters- 

The first thing she saw was her own handwriting staring back at her.

Mabel had forgotten to breathe, her chest heaving for air while she carefully lifted the delicate paper.  

A pocket watch.  A red scarf.  A handful of photographs that Marie had sent Mabel, carefully bound by twine.

At the bottom of the small chest was a clutch of letters addressed to a ‘ _Mrs. Sarah Rogers and Baby Rogers of Brooklyn_ ’.

Mabel pulled them free and passed the bundle to Bucky for safe keeping, her hands trembling while she sorted through the objects.   

Her mind was lost in thought and Bucky was her sense of reason for the remainder of the afternoon.  He helped her secure the letters in an empty box from the room and handled the logistics of informing the authorities of the discovery.  

“The team will probably figure out where we went once the news goes through internationally,” he explained and Mabel nodded numbly.  “I’ll give Steve a call once we get to the hotel.”

He led her through the streets, her hands clutching onto the box as if it were her very life and soul.  

When they returned, she stood in the doorway of the room and Bucky finally pulled the box gently out of her arms and led her to the bed.

“We’ll go through everything later,” he murmured, pulling the covers over her shoulders and pausing a moment before fishing his cellphone out of his pocket and excusing himself into the hallway.

Mabel stared at the box until her vision went dizzy and she fell into the deepest slumber she’d had in a very long time.  There weren’t nightmares; just the faces of friends lost over time who were overjoyed to see her.

Bucky stood in the hallway with his cellphone in hand.  He knew that he needed to call Steve and let his friend know they were safe; and that they had every intention of returning to New York.  Yet, a part of Bucky enjoyed the little bubble the two were living in.   

There was no telling when the pair of them would be able to hide away like this again, and the thought hurt him more than he’d imagined.   

He wanted to be greedy.  He wanted to be selfish for a little bit longer and live this fake life before he returned to the world of heroes and billionaires.  

Bucky slipped back into the room and heard a small snore come from the bed.  Finally, Mabel was asleep.  

He’d done the math while he was standing guard and the woman hadn’t sleep in about two days.  He almost voiced a joke about super soldiers and their stubbornness, but she stirred slightly and changed her position shivering slightly.  

A part of him wanted slide into bed with her and pull that tiny form into his chest, but the more rational part of his mind reminded him of what a terrible idea that would be.

Dropping into the chair, he leaned back and closed his eyes.  He should have realized that the woman he met in 1954 would ruin him.

* * *

“‘ _Marie, it's been weeks since I'd last bathed.  My mother would be so ashamed, though I'm certain my father wouldn't have minded.  I wish I could tell you about where we are staying but the war censors are particularly harsh around this region.  A local village girl voiced how handsome and brave I was and insisted I join her family for dinner.  I didn't stay long, to her disappointment, though a free meal is a free meal_.’  I had forgotten how droll these were,” Mabel folded the letter and lifted another.  “Oh, no, let's look at another-!” she quickly hid the second letter but Bucky was faster.

Bucky had swiped the letter out of her hand before she could protest and began to read it silently, a grin falling over his features by the time he'd finished.  

Since Marie had no next of kin, it was decided after Mabel woke that she’d keep the letters and trinkets.  Granted, the majority of the physical objects had initially belonged to Mabel anyway.

“Your letters to me aren't this graphic!” He joked, setting the letter aside and laughing.  Mabel tried to fight down the blush in her cheeks.  He'd read her first letter to Marie regarding a romantic encounter with Samuel. 

It'd been more explicit than she'd normally would have recounted but Mabel could still feel the vague butterflies in her stomach as she wrote the letter by candlelight the following evening.

“Oh stop!” She tried reaching for the letter but Bucky held it out of her reach, reading aloud.  

“His hands, though calloused from work had-,” she victoriously leapt up and secured the letter, folding it into her pocket with a scowl before he could finish.

“You will be the death of me, Bucky Barnes.”

“Maybe I'd be a little more inclined to write to you if you-,” he started to tease but saw that Mabel's expression had suddenly dropped.   He leaned over to see the paper she was reading and frowned.  

She'd located the letter of condolences that the French Army had sent to Marie.  

The letter that Marie probably opened, sobbing openly in front of the messengers who’d brought it.  The letter that Marie opened a bottle of wine to and cursed Mabel’s name long into the drunken night.  The letter that Marie wouldn’t be able to tell a soul, except the _true_ Pierre, about.

“She was right,” Mabel passed the paper to Bucky.  “I was selfish.  She told me so before I left.  I hurt her and Pierre and my family.  I never saw any of them again and now I get to look at their graves and photographs like a _history professor_.”

“Do you know how many times I read my letter and thought the same thing?” he asked the sullen blonde, tossing the letter aside and looking her squarely in the eye.  “Poor Stevie woke up in this century a few _days_ after I supposedly died.  I enrolled to serve my country but I told him I’d been drafted.  It was some sort of moral obligation to protect the little guy, I guess.”  

He shook his head.  “I know it’s only been a bit of time for you, but dwelling will only make the hurt worse.”

Mabel sat motionless, letting the words sink in.  His honesty left a raw feeling inside of her that didn’t necessarily hurt.  It reminded her of when Samuel would lecture her about her privilege and naïveté about the average man.  

Bucky was enlightened and it was, as Mabel reminded herself in that moment, because he’d gone through all of this before her.  

Bucky had seen the obituaries of friends and the end of a war he didn’t live to see; yet he awoke in a time shaped by his sacrifice.  

“You’re right,” she finally voiced with a nod.  She dug through the pile and read another letter from before the war.  

It was funny, she realized after handing it over to Bucky, these letters were primarily about Sam.  Yet, the ache and burn of passion she’d felt during that period seemed like childish nonsense to her now.  

Her gaze fell to Bucky who was making a face at a particularly terrible line and Mabel could feel her heart swell at the smirk that seemed to perpetually linger on his features.  

_How soft were his lips?_

Mabel blinked at the intrusive thought and tried to pull her mind back to their project or sorting and dating the letters.  She allowed a shy glance and watched his shoulders bounce in laughter. 

The intrusive voice returned.

_How lovely would it be to be embraced?_

Her mind flickered back to the moment after she’d been triggered in the lab.  When he hugged her and held her until she fell asleep in the stairway.  

She shook the thoughts away and set aside her letters, excusing herself to the restroom where she closed the door and turned the sink on.  She ran her fingers under the cool water before dipping her face forward and submerging it under the stream.  

Mabel Foster wasn’t made for love or affection anymore and even if her mind wanted to stray to thoughts of her friend in that way; she’d never act on them.  

She couldn’t.

* * *

**France- 1954- Location Unknown**

 

It was a new, _unfamiliar_ world.  

Mabel stole clothes from passing cottages, and dyed her hair after stealing a bundle of supplies from a small shop.  

She wasn’t going back.  She couldn’t go back 

Their experiments, their tests, psychological torture... 

They wanted her to _kill_ for them.  They’d chosen themselves as jury and executioners and she was their weapon.  

It wouldn’t happen.  It _couldn’t_ happen.  

The memories of the grueling war were enough for her- the faceless men who’d suffered and the broken families that crumpled, by her hand.  

There’d apparently been another war.  It’d destroyed the region once more, but the resilient French had rebuilt; Mabel couldn’t wait to see Paris.  

Everything was different; the slang, the body language, everything.  

But day by day, Mabel adapted and found the new world to her liking.  She got a job in the village, helping an old lady with her shopping on a weekly basis, and eventually bought a bike. 

She lived humbly, no photos, no letters, no way of giving away her true identity.  Not that anyone asked.  She made up a name and the people left it at that.  Most had assumed she’d been widowed by the war.  

Mabel Foster was just a run of the mill French villager.  

But then something changed and a familiar face popped up in the bakery where Mabel picked up her food for the week.

She’d disappeared less than two hours later, without a word.   

Relocating had become second nature to Mabel, she settled into another village, chopped her hair a little shorter and darkened it.  She sold her clothes for new ones and made up a story of a husband who was trying to harm her.  The villagers were protective of their new addition and she settled in.  

But near midnight one night, Mabel heard him enter her small cottage on the edge of town.   

“Are you here to kill me?” she asked in english, recalling the young soldier’s outbursts from before.  

“I’m not sure,” he replied quietly.  He took a few hesitant steps forward and paused.  Mabel remained still in her bed, her hand clutched around a knife that she concealed amongst her blankets.  

“What is your name?” she questioned.  “I’m Mabel.  We met before.”

“I remember that,” he acknowledged, his face knitted in concentration.  “I’m James.”

“What’s your last name James?” she continued.  Those people tried to strip her of her identity on a few occasions, but miraculously she’d continued to hold onto the fragments most precious to her. " 

“I don’t know,” he replied taking another step forward.  “You have to come with me.”  

He held out his left hand and Mabel had to control herself from recoiling back.  

They mutilated him and stuck a machine in the place of his flesh.

“I’m not coming with you,” she stated, sitting up in her bed.  Her hand remained gripped around the knife.  James seemed to have noticed and knelt down in front of her.  

“Are you going to try to kill me with that knife?” he asked, those pale blue eyes devoid of any fear of emotion.  

“If I have to,” she confessed, her hazel gaze hardening.  “I will not go back and neither should you.”

“They’ll find us,” he replied simply.  “They always will.”  Though his expression showed no fear, Mabel could detect a hint of terror in the linings of his voice.   

“They’re tricking you,” Mabel tried to reason softly.  “They’re monsters.”

“I’m told you’re the monster,” he countered.  “I’m unarmed, yet you wield a knife against a fellow victim.”

“I don’t trust you,” she tensed.  “I don’t trust anyone, particularly those trying to bring me back to that hell.”

“ **_Paris_ ** ,” he began slowly in Russian and Mabel immediately jumped forward, knife in hand.  

“No!” she screeched, going for his jugular.  “Stop!  You stop it!”

The screams in her head were louder than her own protests.  

“ **_Central, broken_ ** -,” he was interrupted briefly by Mabel dropping the knife on the floor and sinking to her knees.  

“James, no,” she wept, her body shaking while she tried to fight back the darkness that was swelling in her mind.  “You know what they’ve been calling you?  A ghost story.  The soldier of winter who disappears like the snow.   _Soldat d’Hiver_.”  

His nostrils flared at the name and he continued stoically. 

“ **_Woman, mustard gas_ ** ,” he continued in Russian and Mabel gave him one last pathetic look.

“I’ll still forgive you,” she whispered.  “Since we’re both on separate sides of the same chessboard.”

“ **_Explosion_ ** ,” he finished and Mabel’s world went black.  

It wasn’t until she was in a guard’s arms that her mind came back around and she thrashed and screamed.  James stood to the side, watching the ordeal with those empty eyes until Mabel said something and he broke.   

He shouted, thrashing toward her, and Mabel tried to fight but a needle bit into her skin and her head grew fuzzy.  

For an instant, she was back on the front line… then in her bed in New York… she swore she saw the ghosts of the men whose lives she’d taken swarming around her, taunting her while she was forced into the cryo-tank again.  

She was being punished- the guard explained in French with a rough German accent, strapping her wrist down.  She’d live but have no life.   _Survive_ , but never see another sunrise.

And then it was over and she felt nothing.  

* * *

**November 12th, 2018- Northern Germany**

 

The hallucinations had continued after the darkness.  She gasped for air and felt sensation returning to her limbs.  

Joseph was there.  Why was Joseph there?  Joseph was dead.  

Was she finally dead?  Had mercy been given to her sinning soul?  

She could vaguely make out Joseph’s words, barely recognizing her own voice when she responded.  

A spike of energy, a slew of questions and then darkness again.

Was this _it_ this time?  

Was the pain finally over?

* * *

 

 


	10. Blank White Page

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I copied this over from my google drive on my phone so I apologize if the format is weird!

**“Can you lie next to her**  
**And give her your heart, your heart**  
**As well as your body?**  
**And can you lie next to her**  
**And confess your love, your love**  
**As well as your folly?”**

**_-_ Mumford and Sons (Blank White Page)**

* * *

“You still haven’t told me where we are going,” Mabel shouted after the brunette who continued pulling her along the Paris avenue by her hand. “Are the others meeting us?”

Secretly, Mabel hoped they’d be able to return to the States in one of the jets Tony had told her about. It certainly would beat the crowded tin-can they’d arrived in.

“I can’t believe it,” Bucky let out an astonished chuckle after stopping in front of a worn tavern. “A friend of mine back in the war mentioned this place had the best beer in Paris. Guess it was owned by some German bloke back then.”

Mabel glanced up at the sign after Bucky began to usher her inside.

Le Bouffon de Danse- The Dancing Jester, she mentally translated, studying every inch of the crowded bar. Lively music was playing from a band at the back of the room, and groups of men and women crowded the bar.

A few of the booths were occupied with burly men talking of the old days, or grumbling about their day of work. While mid-aged women leaned against tables, gossiping over cheese and wine.

Meanwhile co-eds and elderly alike joined together in a barrage of drinking songs throughout the bar.

It was an eclectic mix of folks and James Barnes looked completely at home.

He pulled out a chair for Mabel and ordered a pitcher of beer, passing her an empty glass when the waitress dropped their beer at the table.

“Didn’t realize it’d be so crowded,” he spoke above the crowd, glancing around the room and pouring himself and Mabel their drinks.

“It’s very popular,” she agreed, sipping the bitter beverage and making a face. No matter the number of years, her tongue would never become accustomed to the drink.

Bucky burst out laughing, nearly choking on his own drink.

“Guess I’m a terrible date, shoulda checked if you even liked the stuff,” he commented with a gesture toward the pitcher. “Guess I have to drink this all myself. What do you like?”

Mabel pulled the drink menu closer and frowned.

“I’ve never really had spirits,” she admitted scanning the mixed drinks and frowning. “Wine? Usually mother and father served red wine and champagne at their events.”

“Red wine it is,” he smiled and gestured for the waitress to stop by. While he was ordering, Mabel pondered the meaning of his earlier comment.

A date? Is that what he thought this was?

The concept was foreign to Mabel, as all of her socializing was within strict social constructs… with the occasional rendezvous with Sam under the cover of night.

He could have misspoken.

A bottle and a large glass was placed in front of Mabel and the waitress began to chatter politely with the pair in French.

“Are you two new to the neighborhood?” She questioned lightly. “I thought I knew all the locals.”

“Just tourists, unfortunately,” Bucky replied with a smile. “Mae had a few personal errands she had to settle and we decided to make a trip of it.”

Mabel had to bite back a grin. The blue eyed boy truly didn't recognize the charm he had.

The woman nearly spilled the wine when he flashed a grin.

Or perhaps he did? That seemed even more dangerous.

“I can't believe you're from out of the country. Your accents are truly Parisian!” She exclaimed in astonishment. “Are you from the country?”

“I spent some time here with my family as a child,” Mabel confessed. “And I've done a lot of er, professional work throughout the country.”

The waitress nodded and continued to prattle about the different types of tourists that tended to pass through.

“The accents,” the woman sighed. “It's an embarrassment to the language.”

Eventually she was called away, leaving the former soldiers to one another's company.

“It's a shame this stuff doesn't give a buzz,” Bucky grumbled, pouring another drink for himself after finishing Mabel's discarded beer. “How's your metabolism? Steve’s is faster than mine but my healing is better. Looks like you got the healing too… can you get drunk?”

Mabel was mid-sip when he asked her and she set the glass of wine down.

“I honestly have no idea,” she admitted quietly. “Do I seem drunk?”

“You've barely had half a glass of wine,” he teased. “But you've got red cheeks. Though that could be from my charming company.”

“Such confidence Bucky, be careful or people may think you're boastful,” Mabel tilted her glass knowingly in his direction and took a long pull of the beverage.

“When did you start calling me Bucky?” He asked after a pause of silence between the duo. Mabel frowned in thought.

When had that change happened?

The name felt so natural, she was surprised she hadn't started calling by the nickname long ago.

Granted, Mabel was still trying to shake some of the antiquated manners that lingered within her.

“Around the time you started calling me Mae,” she replied and poured a little more wine into her glass. “Only Steve called me Mae and then one day you started.”

He hummed in thought, acknowledging the change.

“Etiquette dictates you wait until you're familiar with someone before you call them by a pet name or by their given name,” Mabel explained lightly.

“You never called me James,” he pointed out quickly, leaning forward for the explanation.

“I'm not terribly fond of James, or some of your other nicknames,” she gave him a sympathetic smile. “Not that it isn't a lovely name,” she quickly supplanted at his frown. “I just prefer Bucky more. I know many James’ but only one Bucky.”

And James dragged her back to Hydra; Bucky wouldn't do that.

“Do you like Mae?” He asked quietly, trying to keep the air of confidence around him.

“It's better than Bella,” she rolled her eyes at a memory. “Joseph called me that whenever we were in the field. He knew how much it bothered me and would tease me relentlessly.”

“Seems like a stretch,” Bucky pointed out.

“Mabel sounds a little more like ‘May-Bell’ with a thick Irish accent,” she explained. “Bell then Bella.”

“What about Flo?” He grinned at the new name. “Or Renny?”

“I prefer Mae,” she confessed, cringing at the plays on her middle name.

“Mae it is,” he decided, hitting the table with his beer glass and laughing. “Mae Foster.”

Mabel felt her cheeks flush.

She liked the sound of her name in his voice.

She went for another sip and realized her glass was empty. Bucky reached forward and poured her another full glass.

“We're going to figure this out for science,” he decided. “You're three glasses in. How do you feel?”

“Like you should stop counting. I have no intention of finishing this bottle,” she insisted sharply.

“But I paid for it,” he pouted and Mabel scoffed at his attempt to pressure her into drinking. “Did you not play drinking games with your squad?”

“Oh we certainly did,” she nodded quickly. “And I would fake it.”

Couldn't risk exposing herself.

“You're a lightweight then,” he teased. "When's the last time you drank? 1913?"

He was completely on point, but she wouldn't give him that satisfaction.

Mabel scowled at the insult.

“I am not!” She protested.

“Then drink the wine and prove it!” He nodded toward the nearly empty bottle and Mabel sighed, finishing off the red wine into the empty glass.

About halfway through the glass, a wave of dizziness struck her and Mabel realized that she was intoxicated.

Damn. So much for the super soldier serum helping her.

“Not a lightweight…” she grumbled while Bucky laughed hysterically across the table. He shook his head at the blondes antics before looking up toward the band.

“I actually know this song,” he noted, humming along with the music a moment before nearly jumping out of his seat. He gave a bow and offer his right hand forward. “May I have this dance mademoiselle Foster?”

“I would be delighted monsieur Barnes,” she took his hand lightly and he guided her toward the makeshift dance floor. A few elderly couple shuffled to the music, though none of the younger folks seemed interested in the fast paced jazz number.

Bucky was surprisingly light on his feet, leading and guiding Mabel, practically floating across the floor.

“This is a little more intimate than I’m used to,” she laughed, her mind fuzzy and her world spinning. Bucky pulled her a little closer by the waist and chuckled at her flustered expression.

“Perhaps we'll try some of your dancing later,” he reasoned. “I'll wear one of those stuffy coats and I'll have Natasha track down a corset…”

Mabel looked mortified at him.

“Do you talk so casually about women's undergarments frequently?” She gaped. “Mr. Barnes, such loose morals.”

“I'm really not a terrible guy,” he gave her a twirl and spun her closer to his chest. “And I thought you were finally calling me Bucky.”

“Clearly I didn't know you so well as I had thought,” she gave another spin and nearly slipped over her feet. Before she could fall, however, Bucky caught her and helped her back to her feet.

“And you can get drunk. Go figure,” he commented with a chuckle. “We should head back.”

“Do we have to?” Mabel whispered with a frown.

“Unfortunately,” Bucky frowned and tilted his head toward a nearby television. “The news broke and I may have neglected to call our mutual friends.”

“You wanted to spend time with me…” Mabel smirked and took his hand, lifting his fingers and examining them closely. “You must shoot well. Your hands are so steady.”

Bucky was trying to settle their check while Mabel made the comment before quickly explaining he worked in private security. After that, he practically shoved Mabel out of the bar into the street.

“The air still smells the same,” she announced, climbing onto one of the nearby benches that lined the streets. “Does the Eiffel Tower look the same? We should visit it before I'm locked away again.”

Bucky paused at the suggestion before grabbing the small woman's hand and hurrying along the road, flagging down a nearby taxi.

“Tower d’Effiel,” he simply stated and the driver gave him a curt nod. He helped Mabel into the car and slid in next to her.

“Thank you,” she whispered, resting her head on his shoulder. “Thank you, Bucky Barnes.”

It took no time at all and the taxi pulled up to the famous structure.

Mabel practically leapt out of the taxi and sprinted toward the tower, her eyes wide.

"It's still here," she whispered once Bucky was at her side. She took a few steps forward and touched the brick base. "Two world wars, countless generations and it's still here. Do you know how many Christmas' I spent sitting in the middle of the snow just to watch it at night?"

She gave a laugh before absently grabbing Bucky's hand and pulling him along toward the stairs. The sun had lined set over the city but the upper levels were open to the public.

They raced to the highest point, laughing at the confused patrons they dashed past once they reached the top.

Mabel leaned on the railing, a content smile spreading across her features while she gazed out.

"The last time I was here," she paused and smirked. "It was before you were even born."

"I get it, you're just a grumpy old woman," Bucky retorted, earning a swat in the shoulder from the shorter blonde. He retaliated by pulling her under his arm and messing up her short hair with a quick movement of his flesh hand.

Mabel attempted to pull free, laughing herself silly, before he pulled her closer, his metal arm pinning her to his chest. They stood frozen like this for a moment, their gaze locking under the flickering lights of the Eiffel Tower.

Mabel could see his head tilt in her direction and she closed her eyes, letting the butterflies that danced in her stomach overwhelm her body.

And right when she could feel his breath on her cheek, his phone chimed and he jumped back in surprise.

"It's Steve," he mumbled, running an aimless hand through his hair and slamming the device to his ear. "Yes?"

Mabel could vaguely hear the conversation; Steve was lecturing Bucky on the delicate situation and how irresponsible they'd been...

"But no one died," Bucky replied when there was a pause in conversation. "And we fly back tomorrow morning. Mae has been doing pretty well.  What are we doing?" He glanced at Mabel and grinned. "I was about to kiss her at the top of the Eiffel Tower before _you_ called."

The call ended abruptly after that comment. Bucky gave her a sly smirk before pulling her by the wrist and lifting her chin gently.

He didn't say another word before pressing his lips into Mabel's.

Time had frozen many times around Mabel.

But nothing in her lifetime compared to the rush and thrill that shot through her body at the simple action.

"I hope that wasn't out of line," Bucky pulled away and scanned her face for any sign of repulsion. She smiled and grabbed the front of his shirt and dragged him back toward her for another deep kiss.

They were gasping for air by the time they pulled apart.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that," he admitted, glancing out toward the Parisian skyline. Despite diverting his attention, his arm was still over her shoulders, pulling her close to his torso. She wrapped her arms around him completely and looked up at him.

"We'll always have Paris then," she chuckled, reciting a line from one of the movies they'd watched before he left the upstate compound

"Here's looking at you, kid," he brushed a stray hair off of her face and planted a kiss on her forehead before they settled into one another and watched the pulsing movements of the city below. 

* * *

 


	11. Beautiful Thing

* * *

 

**"Without you here I am boring**  
**Something inside you is triggering**  
**It makes me myself**  
**Makes me funny, you're a beautiful thing."**

**-Grace VanderWaal (Beautiful Thing)**

* * *

It was quiet.

For the first time, in a long time, all Mabel could hear was silence.  

When she and Bucky returned from their stint in Paris, things were quickly shuffled back in order and the pair was separated once again.  Mabel was back in her northern prison while Bucky was miles away in the city.  

Sam lectured her about how dangerous it could have been.  

Tony warned her about flashbacks.  

What was strange to her, however, was that Paris only ever held good memories.  Even during the war, she never saw the struggle within the city itself.  Just outside of it.  

Mabel continued to stare up at the sterile white ceiling of her bedroom.  It was so peaceful.  The silence.

But why did she feel so unnerved?

Certainly she would have to give Steve the letters she'd retrieved.  Initially she had asked Bucky to handle the task, but he argued it would mean more coming from her.  They had agreed to keep quiet about it until she had the opportunity to cross paths with the blonde.

The duo had also decided not to mention all of the letters they’d located.  Mabel didn’t want to reveal any of it, but Bucky reasoned that it would look strange if they returned empty handed.  Always the rational one.

Now, she simply had to exist and find the clues to unlock her mind.  

Paris had helped. More than she initially realized.  While she was reviewing the letters she finally began to understand the underlying meaning behind the trigger “central”.

Central Park, Central Europe, central headquarters on the front line… it was such a necessary jargon used in her everyday life.  And of course, when she mentioned this revelation to Sam, he made her work through every memory she could pull free.  

Soon, he commented toward the end of the session that day, Wanda would begin to be involved again.  

Bucky had warned her about that.  He warned her that finding the memories was the easy part. It was the separation of reality and fiction that was the real challenge.  

Her heart sank at the thought of the blue-eyed boy.  She missed him terribly.

He did call, when he could, and promised that he would start writing the moment they returned.  

Two weeks had passed and Mabel was still waiting on that letter.  

From time to time Bruce or Sam would fill her in on missions the team was on, or explain a current event the team had reacted to.  

 _Fortunately_ , Bruce heaved a sigh of relief one afternoon, the threats had been pretty mild.  

Hydra was almost destroyed.  Or so they said.  

It felt like the organization had just gotten started to Mabel, but she had to remind herself that she did sleep for over a hundred years.  

There wasn't anyone left to pick up the reins and build back what the good guys had painstakingly worked to demolish.  

“ _Miss Foster_ ,” the Irish AI chimed to life in the soldier's room.   The blonde nearly tumbled off of her bed in surprise.  It would take a lifetime to get used to the voice appearing out of nowhere.  

“Yes?” She questioned the empty room uneasily.  

“ _The Boss would like you to join him in the training facility,_ ” she reported back. “ _Shall I inform him you're on your way_?”

“I will be there shortly, thank you,” Mabel's response was curt, dismissing the AI before it could speak again.  She pulled on a pair of laced sneakers and navigated her way through the maze of the facility.  

It was an impressive building.  Stark has outdone himself in thinking of every little thing a human or enhanced human could possibly need.  

It was clear that the training facility was the epitome of that goal.   The massive gymnasium had everything.  Weapons, training mats, exercise equipment… anything the ones heart desired and more.  

Mabel walked into the room, surprised at its emptiness.  Generally it was either occupied by team members or SHIELD agents who needed specialized training.  She’d never seen it completely vacate.  

“Blocked off the  _whole_  afternoon,” Tony's voice echoed through the space.  “Talked it over with the boys upstairs and it was decided that we spend some time playing with my toys today.”

Mabel met him by the armory tucked away toward the back of the room.  An impressive stockpile of weapons that only the Avengers had access to.  

“You're letting me touch a lethal weapon?” She asked in disbelief, eyeing a wall dedicated to knives.  “You didn’t even want me leaving the county.”

“These are definitely non-lethal,” he laughed plucking a knife off the wall and poking it into his forearm. “Do you think Cap is taking a real bullet to the leg every other day?”

Mabel kept her mouth shut.  What other types of weapons would there be?  How else would one stress the potential of death during a training scenario?  It wouldn’t be very effective unless it simulated-

“Rubber bullets, taser darts,” he grabbed a small dart off a shelf and jabbed it into Mabel's thigh.  Pain exploded in her leg and she dropped, aching like she'd been hit with an actual round.  “Neuro stimulant.  Your brain thinks you've been shot but physically you're barely even nicked.”

He helped her off the ground while the effects faded.  She flexed her leg when she was upright and examined the dart with a skeptical expression.  Mabel set it aside and moved toward another object in curiosity.  

“Tracking gun,” Tony explained when she lifted a small handgun. “For when you need to find the bad guys hideout.”

“Tracking?”

“Satellite tracking,” he clarified.  “I can get a second by second read out within five feet of the targets location.”

She raised her eyebrows and continued to browse, much to Starks amusement.  

Eventually her attention settled on a sleek sniper rifle toward the back of the room.  

“That's the _Night Kings_ favorite plaything too,” Tony mused earning a frown from his companion. “Night King?  Haven't you caught up on Game of Thrones?  Ugh.  Barnes.  He loves the thing.”

Mabel could see why.  She gingerly lifted it out of its holder and examined the piece of machinery.  The weight was perfect, the scope was accurate beyond anything she'd ever seen… it felt like an extension of her being.  

“Wanna shoot it?” Tony offered with a grin.  Mabel lowered the weapon and looked up hesitantly.  

“Is that wise?” She asked quietly.  

“I already told you that I got the all clear,” he explained.  “Besides, I've got at least a dozen protocols that could take you down before you could even bruise me.”

She examined the rifle again, her fingers itching toward the trigger.  

“Ok,” she relented softly.  “Just for a few minutes.”

Tony was already typing something into a nearby panel.  They stepped out of armory into the training area where an entire section of the room had shifted into a shooting range.  

“There are tons of different options you can use with regard to targets,” he explained, ushering her a little closer to the station.  Mabel kept a suspicious eye around the room, half expecting something to jump at her.  “For now, I’ll keep it basic, paper targets to get you warmed up.”  

He pressed a button and a few dozen targets dropped from the ceiling.

“Now normally in the range I let the team use live ammo,” he continued with a frown.  “But for now, we’ll keep you with the fake stuff.  Just in case.”

“Just in case,” she repeated, leaning into the weapon.  She used the scope to fire a few rounds before realizing how smooth it shot.  She realistically didn’t even need the scope for a clear shot.  It was only when the target was further down the line that she utilized it.    

Tony continued dropping targets for the woman, occasionally humming to himself when she made a particularly difficult shot.  

Mabel hadn’t felt so at ease in years.  It was like regaining use of a defective limb- she felt alive.

Tony began to change up the targets, introducing moving holographic humanoid images.  

“On the model, hit the points that light up red,” he instructed.  Mabel waited and saw the first model’s neck light up.  She hit the point and another popped up a few yards away, this time their torso lighting red.  She kept the pattern up, hitting the targets as quickly as they appeared.  When it became overwhelmingly swarmed with targets, she picked off the closest ones and moved backwards.   

It wasn’t until Tony shut off the module that she lowered her weapon and set it on the table.  

She looked to the genius expectantly, waiting for some kind of commentary on her actions.  He looked down at his tablet in surprise, murmuring something under his breath and shaking his head before speaking up.

“You’re nearly tied with Barnes on accuracy and a bit slower than Barton,” he reported.  “I think we found where your talents lay.”

“I killed people hidden in ditches for years,” she replied dryly.  “I’d hope I’d be a decent shot.”

“Sometimes I can’t tell if you’re joking or are just incredibly morbid,” Tony commented offhand before passing her a few of the knives.  The game was similar, but the models were solid with a jelly like flesh substance on the outside to mimic flesh.  

Mabel’s throwing wasn’t anywhere near her shot, but Tony pointed out that her knowledge of close combat kill points was topnotch.  He let her try her hand at one of Clint’s bows, laughing as she tried to understand the compound bow’s unfamiliar structure.  Unsurprisingly her aim with a traditional longbow was a little more accurate.  

He explained how some of the other technology worked, introducing her FRIDAY’s field capabilities and taking her to the nearby vehicle garage to show her some of the ground vehicles they used in the field.  

When it was all over, Mabel followed him back to the heart of the compound, remaining silence while he clicked away on his little computer.  She had million questions but only enough courage to voice one out loud.

“Why did you show me all of that?” she asked when they ended in the kitchen.  Tony had offered her a seat at a nearby table and walked over to start a pot of coffee.  

“Admittedly, I was a little hesitant on how you’d handle basic training exercises,” he began while the coffee pot gurgled to life.  “Cap was the one who suggested it after you and Barnes returned from Europe.”  

Mabel stayed quiet, allowing to him to continue through his story before questioning further.  

“Sam had reported your psychological state was unaffected by the trip,” he arched a brow in Mabel’s direction and she confirmed the fact with a small nod.  “I didn’t believe it, until I realized that your unit didn’t see combat in the city.  That and reading through some of your letters you handed over.  You’ve always been a stick in the mud, haven’t you?” He laughed at his joke and poured the hot liquid into two mugs.  “Do you want any sugar or milk?”

“Black is fine,” she replied, taking the warm mug and giving it a testing sip.  

“So after looking over that and the cute little sparring session you had with Barnes, I realized that we haven’t been using your full potential.  We have three super soldiers hanging around and we only bring two of them into the field.  It seemed like a waste,” he shrugged casually and sat down across from her.  “Granted it’d be a while before we actually brought you into the field.  Assuming that’s something you’d even be interested in… I just really wanted to get some accurate schematics to present Fury in the event we do need you.”   

Mabel digested the information, taking a few sips from her drink before looking the brunette in the eye.  

“So this was a test?” she asked.  She wasn’t surprised.  Mabel had an impressive history behind her.  She’d been enhanced during her time in Hydra and considering Bucky’s role in all of this…  It was inevitable that it would come up.  

“Of sorts,” he replied.  “I figured you wouldn’t go off the wall and begin attacking, despite the warnings of some others.”

Mabel wondered briefly who would have warned him against that.  Sam maybe?  Nat?  

“I’m trying to get you to trust me,” he admitted after a pause to swallow down his coffee.  “You’ve been dealt a terrible hand and I’d like to help you fix it, but… you’re locking down.”

Mabel certainly hadn’t expected the conversation to shift in that direction.  She did trust him, to a certain extent.  Everyone had ulterior motives.  She didn’t completely trust anyone, ever.  Even Bucky was held a certain distance away in the event that she needed to run.  The way she saw it, with a few words she could kill everyone in that building, there was too much risk in forming attachments- anyone could break at any time.  

“I know there are other letters,” he continued softly.  “And it’s fine that you’d like to keep them to yourself, you’re entitled to that.  I’d never ask you to hand over anything personal or sentimental.  It’s not even necessarily helpful for me to figure out where you are right now, I mean, we’re working with whatever happened between 1917 and today, right?”  

There was unspoken request under all of this, Mabel could sense it.  

“What is it you want?” she asked firmly.  The question came out a bit more aggressive than Mabel had initially intended, but it was direct.  She’d at least get a straight answer.

“I have a lot of files from a lot of people spanning from 1905 to the day Barnes popped up in Berlin,” he seemed surprised at her abruptness, but nonetheless continued speaking.  

“The vast majority were written by your direct superior throughout 1916 and 1918.  I also found a chunk that references a lot of experimentation.  It’s ugly and I had to swallow my own dinner a few times, but I think you might be able to help,” he finished and she felt him studying her reaction to this.  

Mabel figured all of that would be dug up eventually.  She knew there were secrets that would follow her unit’s name past the grave, she’d just hoped that it wouldn’t have been relevant a hundred years in the future.  And that she wouldn’t have been the one to answer for it.   

“Are you looking for answers?  Or clarification?” she threw out a few suggestions, trying to understand exactly what he wanted.  

“A little of both,” he spun his tablet around and revealed a copy of a file Mabel hadn’t seen in decades.  It was signed by her higher ups and redacted significantly.  “According to the history books, this never happened.  Why?”

She looked at the date and swallowed.  December 28th, 1917.  

“It was a classified military operation,” she began the familiar speech before pausing and holding her breath.  “We’d been sent in to kill Allied leaders who had been exposing battle strategy to the enemy.  Their names are now celebrated and that was the intention of my superiors.”

“Who were they?” he pressed and Mabel studied pages in the tablet, scrolling through and stopping on a heavily redacted page.

“Generals on the Western front primarily,” she grabbed a nearby napkin and looked around for a pen.  Tony supplied one from a pocket and she wrote a clean list of the men whose lives she’d ended with a single bullet.  “The goal was to make it look like an enemy ambush.  We used German weapons and called it operation Santa’s List.”  

The bitter humor wasn’t lost on Tony while he read the list over, his brows raising at a few of the names.

“These were heavy hitters,” he confessed.  “And they betrayed the Allies?  Not a smart move.”

“‘ _Loose lips sink ships_ ,’” she quoted the old wartime slogan.  “It seems that a lot of people today forget how brutal and cruel humanity became over the course of a few years.  When I was a child, you had to look the man you killed in the eye.  By the time I was a woman, I could end a handful of lives over a great distance.  The goal was to kill as many people at once, as quickly as possible.”

Her blunt statement seemed to shake him slightly and finally she could see fear in his eyes.

“I blew up an entire terror cell once with a single blast,” he muttered, looking down at the table.  “My family made their money during the first world war by creating and supplying the weapons you used to destroy.  It continued until recently, actually.  My name was synonymous with death and destruction.  I’d like to say things have changed, but we’re all still blowing people up from a distance.”  

“Humanity never changes,” Mabel sighed.  “We fight for power that doesn’t exist and create enemies of people who are essentially the same.”  

“But we’ve taken steps,” Tony pointed out.  “We created the Avengers, we defended the world from evils born in other galaxies.  Sometimes humanity is forced to change, and that change takes time.  Just as it’s taken time for you to adapt to this new world, we’re still trying to grasp our minds around the questions you asked yourself as a child.”

“What can I do then?” she was genuinely interested in what her, a child of war, could contribute to their mission.  She could shoot and she could kill.  That’s all she knew.  That’s all she allowed herself to know.  

“I want you to heal,” his tone was firm.  “I want you to read your letters, and grieve and be in pain.  I want you to feel again.  We’re not here to shot down piles of enemy soldiers, we’re here to protect the innocent and dismantle the institutions that hurt the innocent.  In a week, you’re being relocated to the New York City base.  You’re going to build relationships, you’re going to ache for the relationships lost and then you’re going to use that pain to fight.”

Mabel couldn’t suppress the smile that skirted her features.  

“And what makes you so sure all of this will happen?” she tried, the smile turning into a sly smirk.  “Or that I’m even willing to do any of this?”

“Because we’ve been cut from the same cloth Foster,” he pointed out.  “It’s easy to freeze people out, but it’s harder and more impressive to let them back in.  It makes the fight worth fighting.”

“I don’t know if it’ll be that simple,” she whispered the confession, her head down.  “It’s been a long time.”

Tony stood up from the table and grinned.

“Then we’ll just fire a bullet into Barnes’ stomach and see what happens, hm?”

Mabel was utterly unprepared for the wave of emotion that hit her with that simple statement.

* * *

****December 25th, 1917- Western Front** **

 

“Merry Christmas,” Joseph broke a piece of bread in half and passed it a shivering Mabel.  She took it gratefully, trying to use her imagination to pretend it was warm and soft; instead of cold and stale.  

“I got you something,” Mabel began before smirking. “But the damn Germans blew it up before I had the chance to wrap it.”

“Ah it's the thought that counts,” Joseph laughed, tugging his coat a little tighter around his shoulders.  “Weather didn't decide bless us with a miracle, huh?”

Mabel grunted a response, sipping at a metal container of tea that had long chilled.

“How long you been out here?” He asked and Mabel shrugged her shoulders.  

“Almost a week?  Rotation should be up soon, or so I'm told.  Assuming Meyer or Marsh don't get their asses blown up between now and sunrise,” she tried for another sip of the cold drink before tossing the container at a rat picking at a pile of waste in frustration.  

“So what you're saying is you're stuck through the new year,” Joseph snorted in laughter when the rat hissed and scampered off into the shadows.  

“Speak of the devil,” Mabel heard a few footfalls in the distance, revealing Meyer and Marsh looking a little worse for wear.  “ _Merry Christmas_.”

“I’m Jewish,” Meyer grunted, dropping on a nearby supply crate and pulling a bottle of half empty whiskey.  He passed it to Marsh who took a long swallow and continued passing it around.  Mabel shrugged the offer away after Joseph took a pull from the bottle and handed it back to Meyer.

“Happy _Hanukkah_ ,” he grumbled, finishing off the rest of the drink and throwing it aside.  “It’s been quiet.” 

They all hummed in agreement.  

“Fuck all this,” Marsh finally voiced the thought the quartet had simmering under the surface.  He stood up in the trench, peering slightly above the surface and shouting.  “Oy!  Krauts!  Tell your Kaiser he can lick my ballsack!”  

A shot just missed his head by inches and he dropped back into the trench, falling into Joseph.  He gave the group a wide eyed look before nearly choking on his laughter.  

They spent the time until sunrise shouting the most creative and vile insults they could muster toward the enemy line.  They were pretty sure the Germans couldn’t even hear them, but damn did it feel good.

Mabel almost forgot about the cold and the bitter and the hunger that ached her stomach.  

The higher-ups always stressed that camaraderie was important, and Mabel knew why, sometimes you had to be willing to take the bullet for the soldier who could complete the mission.  It made sense in a logistical way.  

But on top of that, it made sense on a psychological level.  She’d have gone mad ages ago if she’d dealt with this alone.  But she had fellow soldiers to fall back on.  Soldiers who’d seen their brothers blow to bits in seconds, or lost limbs or suffered through frozen Christmases while their families back home snuggled warm by a fire.

It was a bitterly beautiful thing.

* * *

 


	12. Won't Back Down

* * *

 

**“No, I’ll stand my ground.  Won’t get turned around.**

**And I’ll keep this world from draggin’ me down,**

**but I’ll stand my ground and I won’t back down.”**

**-Tom Petty (Won't Back Down)**

 

* * *

Before she met Joseph Rogers, Mabel spent a lot of time with a French soldier named Jacob.  

He’d sat next to her on the train when they’d departed from Paris in 1914, rambling on about being a hero and ending the war before the next winter.  Mabel had sat quietly and listened, still trying to assume the personage of Pierre Garnier before they reached the camps and nervously fidgeting with the coat Marie had given her .  

Jacob had lost a lot of friends in the field.  Mabel thought that was his downfall.  She reasoned that the less people one grew close to, the less likely the hurt will be when they inevitably die.  

She brought this up in the mess a few months after they’d gone to the line and Jacob laughed, nearly choking on his dinner.  

“What’s so funny about that?” she’d asked him, taking a sip of the red wine a local priest had given the small unit as a gift.  

“It’s so dour,” he’d explained.  “ _Everyone_ dies in the end.  Whether you’re 100 or 10, you’re going to die.  Do you not make friends in your childhood or throughout life?”

She took a bite out of a piece of bread in lieu of answering the question.  Her mind drifted to Marie and the real Pierre, two friends who’d risked a lot to let her go on this suicide mission.

There was no doubt they’d worry, no doubt they’d fear for her safety between letters and photographs…

“You’re something else, Garnier,” Jacob had patted her shoulder and took another swig of wine.  “Perhaps that cold attitude will end up saving us all.”

* * *

The French news was playing when Mabel walked into the common area a day before she was supposed to leave for the city.

_“...the French government has ordered a mandatory evacuation of the city center and the areas outlined in red, those in yellow zones should be prepared for evacuation if the order comes.”_

She plucked an apple off of a nearby table and hovered behind the sofa, watching the screen intently with Tony and Sam.  

“Another attack?” she questioned, earning an affirmative grunt from Sam.  

_“So far, no one is taking credit for the attack.  Authorities have begun a list of suspected groups and will be reaching out to the UN and the Avengers for feedback as soon as possible.”_

The image cut away from a female reporter to a burning building at the center of the city.  

“ _Musee d’historie de la medecine_ ,” she realized out loud, recognizing the familiar structure of the small building from her readings.  

“Have you been there?” Tony’s gaze flickered in her direction and she shook her head.

“I read about it,” she replied with a shake of her head.  “It was made after the war.  1920s, I believe?  It’s not a very popular tourist destination…”

She trailed off, watching the flames in the video lick up the sides of the university building where the small museum was located.  

“It does seem like a very specific attack,” Sam agreed.  “Was there anything controversial or new moved in recently?”

Tony perked up.

“FRIDAY?”

_“I’m on it, boss.”_

“We still moving to the city?” Sam questioned with a glance in Mabel’s direction and Tony nodded.

“I think we might need to leave _today_ ,” he replied, his phone giving a buzz.  “Like, in an hour or so.”

“Think you can move that quickly?” Sam asked the petite blonde and she smiled.

“I believe I can handle it,” she replied, taking the last bite out of her apple and turning on her heel to her room.

Mabel was elated that she was still able to accompany the duo to the city.   She hadn't heard from anyone aside from Tony and Sam for the last few days and she was getting stir crazy.  

She had only one suitcase with a few changes of clothes and a neatly bound book of photographs and letters.  Sam had offered to help her organize her box of memories when he saw the pile on her bed one afternoon.  

Mabel had never been one for material things.  Though before she zipped her bag, she carefully tucked Steve's letters, her watch and the red scarf neatly in the top of the bag.

Tony mentioned that he'd take care of weapons and pretty much anything else aside from personal belongings.  Mabel thought she was packing fairly heavily, having only used a small bag for food and survival supplies during her years in the field.  

“That's it?” Sam asked when she arrived at the jet an hour later.  She looked at the large duffle he held over his shoulder and shrugged at her tiny suitcase.  

“I have the essentials,” she replied lightly, following him onto the plane and looking around with wide eyes.  

She was, admittedly, wary about the short jet ride to the city.  Sam had given her a few exercises to work through the anxiety and Tony assured her that the jet was significantly safer than commercial planes.

“Early images from the Paris attack are coming in,” Tony announced, climbing onto the plane and holding up a hand.  A holographic screen appeared in front of the trio, revealing a group of masked figures breaking into the museum and igniting the fire.  “The flames just cleared up.  One casualty, a security guard who was trapped.  They're doing an inventory now.”

Mabel swallowed at the image of the young security guard that flickered across the screen.  He didn't look much older than some of the boys she'd commanded.  Such a pointless death during peacetime.  

“Do they think it's connected to the November attack?” Sam questioned, earning a sigh from Tony.  The entire jet seemed to move to life while the pair talked over the details.  The back of the jet sealed up, the engine hummed to life, and the familiar voice of FRIDAY chimed through the speakers.  

Mabel didn't even feel the jet lift from the hanger into the air.  

“ _Sir, I found something you might be interested in.”_ FRIDAY's voice pulled Mabel back into the conversation.  The screen lit up again, revealing an inventory log from the small museum.

“ _World War 1 research had been sent there to be analyzed and authenticated three days ago.  From the museum files it looks like it contained multiple medical and scientific records compiled by a Dr. Friedrich Krauss.”_

Tony's brows shot up and Mabel could feel the pairs eyes bore into her back.  The name seemed familiar.  It was just in the depths of her mind, a face she could almost see, a voice she could almost hear.  

“Mae,” Tony's voice was low.  “Do you know anything about Dr. Krauss?”

The blonde swallowed.  Sam and Tony seemed to know something she didn't.  It was written all over their faces.  What ached the most, however, was that she couldn't pull the information they needed to confirm whatever it was they knew.  She shook her head.  

“FRIDAY, what were the dates of the reports?” Tony questioned the AI, leaning back into his chair and watching the screen light up with scanned files.  

“ _Looks like they were clustered by year,1917-1922.  There were more years according to an achieve note but that was the bulk of it for the Paris museum.”_

“Why don't you find out where the rest of the information is located, for funsies?”

“ _Already on it, boss.”_

Tony grabbed a tablet off of the wall panel and began poking at the screen. The cabin was tense, Sam avoided eye contact while Tony knotted his brows in silent concentration.

“All right Foster, remember that game we were playing where you filled in information that was redacted?” He passed her the tablet and she could feel her cheeks flush at the mission report on the screen.  “This is the final level.  Boss fight.  Tell me a little bit about what happened August 11th, 1918?”

Her fingers froze on the glass surface of the tablet.  That had been _the_ mission.  The mission to end it all and wrap up the war against the Germans nice and tidy.  

She hesitated for words before Tony spoke up again.  

“I'll make it easy for you,” he paused in thought before nodding to himself.  “Your team had been sent to retrieve something.  What was it?”

She frowned at an intrusive memory.  The schematics that Joseph had managed to bring back before dying.  The machine that killed thousands in a single heartbeat.  

“A death machine,” she answered, her voice cracking through the memories.  “The Germans had taken powerful scientific minds from around the world.  They rallied around this… _cult_ that had remained fairly quiet during the war.  You know the cult today as Hydra.”

Sam stilled, listening to the woman talk.  They'd touched on Hydra from time to time, but everyone had been to nervous to touch the topic of how she'd ended up in the monster's hands in the first place.  She continued, her eyes flickering across the blacked out words on the screen.

“I had a four man team,” she recalled.   _Marsh, Meyer, Thomas, and herself._  “I was the sniper and lead on the mission.  I handled the security forces while those three attacked from two different sides.   The enemy was supposed to be moving into the building we ambushed, so their numbers were reported to be low.”  She frowned at the lettering on the paperwork that confirmed the mission as a failure.  All four men had been reported deceased.

“They knew you were coming,” Tony mumbled, his fingers toying with his goatee while he continued listening in interest.  

“It all happened at once,” Mabel could still hear Meyer’s shouts in the back of her mind.  “They had stronger weapons, more men.   We had been a small reconnaissance team and were utterly unprepared for the ambush.  I jumped into the fray and got into the compound with Marsh.  I was so close to completing the mission.  I had to detonate a single bomb.  I'd already killed off their primary leaders…”

One bomb.  She needed to get it to the east side of the base, no matter the cost.  Mabel had been so close until she'd been caught.  

When the end of the gun had hit her head, her last thought echoed a prayer.  In that moment she was certain she was dying.  

And yet-

“So what was it you were supposed to destroy?” Sam pressed.  His knuckles were white from squeezing his hands together.  

“Picture an atomic bomb,” Mabel tried to keep her voice level.  She held her hands up and mimicked the shape of the mushroom cloud.  “It irradiates, it attacks and it destroys.  Now imagine a weapon of similar capabilities that is detonated with no warning.  There's no mushroom cloud.  No time to run or cover.  With this weapon, they were able to potentially wipe out cities in _seconds_ with no trace of the weapon itself.  Just the ruins it left behind.”

“How?” Tony demanded, his fingers pulling his holoscreen in front of him.

“I'm not a scientist,” she confessed.  “It was explained as a type of sound wave.  The Germans believed they had gotten their hands on a material of the _heavens_.  We called it “The Ark”.  They called it something that roughly translated to Peacekeeper.”

“Like the Ark of the Covenant,” Sam looked to Tony who let out a snort.  “Open the box and end all the wars?  You've read _the Bible_ haven't you?”

“I saw _Indiana Jones,_ ” Tony replied.  “And even if that was fiction, something that powerful in the hands of some future terrorists is a bad combo.  Any idea what happened with it?”

Mabel shook her head and passed the tablet back to the billionaire.

“They captured me shortly after,” she replied. “I didn't see the light of day until the 1950s, at least that I _remember_.”

The group fell into a contemplative silence after that.  FRIDAY reported they were about thirty minutes from the city and Mabel could feel her shoulders tense at what was to come.

* * *

Bucky and Steve got the report that the others would be joining them while they'd been scouting a Hydra cell in Harlem. It was right before an explosion blew them and their small squad of SHIELD agents into the middle of the road.

The team had been swamped the last couple of weeks.  After months of silence, it seemed like the terror group was having a type of renaissance.  They had new weapons, new members and murmurs suggested a new leader had taken control.  

The team was trying their best to keep it all together but with random attacks throughout the city and now the world… it was becoming a bit of a mess.  

The backup was more than appreciated.  

After Tony’s call and the disaster of an intel mission, the super soldiers had returned to the Tower.   They were a little worse for wear from the mission, their clothes lightly singed while they made their way to the debriefing room.

“God, I'm gone for a week and you two nearly get yourselves killed,” Tony entered the meeting room where the pair was being debriefed by Natasha.  

“They had twice the numbers we'd estimated,” Bucky scowled, leaning back in his chair and huffing a sigh.  “Barely got a few good hits in before Stevie called us back.” 

“They ignited the safe house like it was nothing,” Steve explained.  His hand were clasped in front of him on the table.  He knew he'd made the right call to abort the mission, it just bugged him that Hydra had gotten the jump on them.  They should have had the upper hand with the intel they’d been given.

“Sounds similar to what I'm hearing in Paris,” Tony “tsk’d” under his breath and dropped down next to Barnes to listen to the rest of the debriefing.  

“We found two more safe houses on the Eastern Seaboard with what information you two managed to get from them,” Natasha pointed to a screen over her shoulder.  “We can dispatch teams to both, or wait until we have to intervene.  Are we planning a response for Paris?”

Tony sat up, realizing the question had been directed toward both him and Steve.  

“You have the information,” Steve gestured for the brunette to take the lead.  Tony swiped a hand from his tablet upward, pulling the Paris attack images onto the screen.  

“We have tentative images coming in from the security cams and civilians.  Whoever it was, they were ballsy.  The museum was set to open roughly an hour after the attack,” he zoomed in on a bulky man in armor.  “Now I don't want to jump to conclusions, so I'll let you all simmer on this figure.”

The man in the video looked directly at the camera for an instant, his disfigured face making a small smirk before the image cut out.  

“That's Crossbones,” Steve's expression shifted from interest to fury.

“I thought he died before the Accords?” Bucky shot a look around the table.  “Or did he not?”

Natasha swallowed and spoke up.  

“We never found a body,” she muttered, a sidelong look in Steve's direction.  “There _were_ survivors of the blast, so it's possible…”

“Or a _copycat_ ,” Steve announced firmly.  Bucky knew that the events in Lagos had weighed heavily on his friend’s conscious.  It'd all been an accident.  Hell, from what Bucky had seen of the footage, if Wanda hadn't intervened, there would have a much higher casualty count.  

“Regardless,” Tony passed around a few bound packets of paper to the trio.  Bucky's attention immediately drifted to a familiar name on the document: _Hydra._   “These are some of the documents they may have gotten their hands on in the vault.”

“Dr. Krauss?” Steve eyed Tony before sending a concerned glance in Bucky's direction.  The paperwork outlined some of the doctors work post-World War 1.  It was gruesome, disgusting and exactly what Bucky expected a Hydra scientist to be involved in.  

What Bucky didn't expect was the sinking feeling in his stomach or the shaking of his hand from pure rage.  He hadn't realized that what had happened to him had been standard procedure by the time he'd come around.  By the second page, the doctor had outlined his final patient; a female, roughly 26 years of age, blonde hair, and hazel eyes.  

He could have smashed a fist through the table.  

“Buck?” Steve broke the former assassins concentration.  Bucky looked up, his eyes wild at the trio of faces watching him carefully.  

“What are we doing about it?” The soldier demanded, his flesh hand clenched in a fist under the table while he attempted to pull his head straight.  

“We need figure out where he’d go next,” Tony decided firmly.  “If there’s a possibility he’d slip into one of the Hydra safehouses stateside, we do that.  Do we have any information on Hydra cells internationally?”

“I have my people working on it,” Natasha replied.  “Fury also has SHIELD agents listening all over for murmurs.”

“If this is Crossbones, we need to handle this very carefully,” Steve warned the group.  “He knows Bucky’s triggers, and now he knows Krauss’ research.”

“The things that haven’t been redacted over the years,” Tony mumbled with a sigh of relief.  “We still have time.  What we need to focus on is on the last page of the packet.”

It was a photocopied print out from a military record from August 11th, 1918.  

“This is-?” Natasha began but was interrupted by Stark.  The redhead shot him a glare, but allowed him to continue.  

“Mabel filled in where she could,” he explained.  Bucky scanned the document and noticed that Mabel’s neat handwriting filled in the spaces where the typed information had been blacked out.   “We’re talking a world ending machine.  She believes it works with sonic waves or _something,_ to destroy entire cities without a single trace.”

“That’s impossible,” Bucky scoffed, but narrowed his gaze while he continued reading the details of the report- right up to where it noted four elite soldiers had lost their lives in its pursuit.  A lump formed in his throat and he coughed.  Mabel wouldn’t have risked her life for something as pett as a rumor.  She had a good head on her shoulders, despite her more impulsive tendencies.

“I thought the same thing until FRIDAY dug through the original SHIELD leak,” he pulled up a frozen black and white image.  It was grainy, reminding Bucky of the soundless films he’d watched with Steve back in the day, the theaters had saved money by showing aged films in lieu of newer ones for their poorer audiences.

Tony started the clip.  It was a shaky image of a forest.  Bucky couldn’t quite figure out where the forest was, but the video’s intentions became clear.  In seconds, without so much of a shift in the camera, the entire forest was wiped flat.  

Even nuclear bombs left behind some skeletons.  

“It’s authenticate,” Tony voiced the concern before anyone could speak.  “FRIDAY found it in a buried archive on the SHIELD server from Hydra.  It was really the only media they’d been able to store from that period, aside from a few photographs.”  He pulled up a black and white image of a mustached man.  “At least we finally put a face to the monster.”

“That’s Krauss?” Steve looked to Tony for confirmation and the billionaire simply nodded.  “Has Mabel seen this?”

Tony frowned and shook his head.  

“Sam, Bruce and Wanda are working with her later tonight,” the look he gave the group was painful.  “It probably won’t be pretty, but we need to tap into that head of hers and find out everything we can,”

“And use her like a guinea pig?” Bucky spoke out before he could stop himself.

“She _volunteered_ ,” Tony corrected sharply.  “I wouldn’t subject anyone to this without their consent.”

Bucky growled a profanity under his breath before Tony dismissed the meeting.  He certainly wasn’t happy about Mabel being subjected to what seemed like rapid memory recollection, but he respected her choice.  Even if, in his opinion, it was a stupid one.

* * *

Mabel was curled up on her bed, neatly organizing the photos she brought onto the walls around her.  It wasn’t much, but it made the sterile white and grey room a little more like home.  

A soft knock on her door pulled her out of her early century daydreams and she softly called for the guest to enter.  

To her surprise, Wanda entered the room, a weerie expression on her features.

“How are you settling in?” she asked, glancing politely at the pictures scattered across Mabel’s bed.  

“Just finishing unpacking,” Mabel reported, gesturing to her empty suitcase at the corner of the room.  Wanda looked at the relatively untouched room and gave the woman another small smile.  “Was there something you needed?”

“I wanted to talk to you about this evening,” she crossed the room to sit on the edge of Mabel’s bed, giving the blonde plenty of room with her photographs.

“I’ve been writing down everything I can think of,” Mabel gestured to a closed notebook next to her bed.  “And focusing on the specific missions, like Sam suggested.”  She eyed the Sokovian curiously, the brunette woman’s expression shifting slightly.  

“We don’t have to do this,” Wanda stated, looking down at her hands.  “It’s a painful process that nearly destroyed Bucky.  Tony is asking you to pull memories that have been buried by torture and abuse.  It will all come back.”

Mabel spine straightened and she bowed her head, considering Wanda’s words.  

“Would a more specific memory help?” she asked quietly, her eyes drifting to a photograph of the Avengers that Sam had given her.  In particular, she studied Steve’s familiar features.  “It’s a painful memory, but if I can remember specific details it might help.”

“Do I know this memory?” Wanda’s voice was barely above a whisper.  

“You know the agony associated with it,” Mabel replied, her eyes flicking up to meet the hero’s.  “And the last moments of it.”

“Joseph Rogers' death,” Wanda realized without hesitation.  “It was a mission, was it not?”

Mabel nodded slowly, pulling bits and pieces of that particular day forward.  He was dispatched to retrieve documents from a lab outside the front.  Slip in, grab them, slip out.  The cult, somewhat unknown at the time, was losing funding.  

There were very few guards.  Honestly, it’d been one of the cleanest missions since Mabel had enlisted.  The team stole the documents, but on their way out- that’s when it turned into a disaster.  

“He had the original blueprints for the device,” she explained, the idea beginning to take shape.  “I saw them.  It was brief, but I did get the chance to look at them before he died.”

Wanda paused in thought.  Mabel could practically see the young woman weighing the pros and cons of pulling up that particularly painful memory.  

“We will have to start with his death,” she stated after a few seconds of silence.  “That’s the anchor.  Sam mentioned to me that it already might be connected to one of your triggers, which is understandable.”

Mabel hummed in agreement and allowed her to continue.  

“Perhaps if I can pull out the full memory from that point, we can get an idea of what to look for,” she spoke as her thoughts rolled around in her head.  “It _might_ just work.”

“We should talk to Dr. Banner,” Mabel confirmed with a short nod at her companion.  “And figure out the best way to transcribe the information from me to you to a way Tony can understand.”

“Leave that to me,” Wanda stood up from the bed and offered a hand for Mabel.  “We were due to start soon anyway, would you join me in the lab?”

Mabel moved a few pictures and took the woman’s hand, allowing Wanda to guide her through the hallways of the Tower. 

“It’s a gorgeous view,” Mabel commented, glancing at the nighttime skyline that surrounded the building.  “Bigger than it used to be.”

“The foundations may crumble, but home will always be home, my friend,” Wanda smiled warmly and pulled her toward the elevator where they chatted about Wanda’s homeland.  

“All Pietro and I knew was war,” she confided as the numbers on the elevator counted upward.  “Sokovia has a difficult past.  Have you read of it’s founding?”

Mabel shook her head, frowning sympathetically to her.  

“I made it through the 1980s before we left,” she confessed.  That was another thing Mabel hoped to focus on during her stay.  The geography of the world had shifted so many times throughout the years, she was having trouble keeping up.  From what she understood, Sokovia was a result of the Soviet Union breaking up, but Mabel didn’t know the specifics.

“There was a very strong culture with my people that differed from other regions,” Wanda explained.  “Unfortunately, our numbers were small and within those numbers, we simply could not agree.  That’s the short version.”

“I’m very sorry you had to suffer through that,” Mabel looked to her with sincerity.  “No child should lose their innocence through violence.”

Wanda didn’t say a word, as the elevator had arrived at their destination and their attention fell on Bucky waiting outside the lab.

He was pacing, barely glancing up to acknowledge the women.  He did a double take and saw Mabel standing with the psychic and briskly walked over, grabbing Mabel’s upper arm forcefully and pulling her aside.

“Are you aware of what you’re doing?” he questioned in a low voice.  “Because I don’t think they are going to tell you the details of how fucking _horrifying_ this is.”

“We did it before,” Mabel stated dryly, she shook her head trying to follow his thoughts.  She pulled her arm from his grip and studied him over.  He was more expressive than Mabel had ever seen him.  There was worry, anger, confusion, and a tiny bit of agony as he spoke.  

“This is something else entirely,” he warned.  “It’s the _opposite_ of the wipe.  You’re forcing the memories they pushed away, back to the surface.  It’s excruciatingly painful and I need to know that you’re doing this willingly and not because Stark guilted you or you have this hero-complex.”

“Anyone would do the same thing in my position, Bucky,” Mabel said with a soft shrug.  “You did it.”

“I didn’t do _this_ ,” he noticed Stark walking out of the lab to greet Wanda and turned to block Mabel out of view.  “You’re pulling it all out at once.  Didn’t they tell you that?”

She bit down on her bottom lip and looked away before speaking.

“I _suggested_ it.”

He paused, clearly at a loss for words.

“You could hurt someone, or yourself,” he reached and grabbed Mabel’s shoulders gently.  “Please rethink this.”

His plea made Mabel’s heart ache in a way she hadn’t felt since Joseph’s death.  The particular feeling startled her and she pulled away from his grip.  

“I spoke with Wanda and we’re going to try something a little different,” she admitted, matching her eyeline with his.  “It will be difficult, but she says it is possible to pull off.  She’s talking with the others right now.”

Mabel was frozen in place while Bucky digested the information, his face exposing some of his thoughts.  The slight tug of his lips suggested unease, the tiny arch in his brow suggested irritation.  

“I need to me in there with you,” he decided firmly, offering Mabel no other alternatives.  “I don’t care if we have to kick Stevie out.  You’re not doing this alone.”

“Tony will be there,” she smirked, watching that slight arch in his brow.  

“Even more reason for me to be there,” he threw an arm around Mabel’s shoulders, pulling her closer to his torso.  Mabel felt herself stiffen at the sudden gesture, unfamiliar with the less conservative forms of public affection.  Slowly, she wrapped and around around him and he pulled away, satisfied with their agreement.  

“Let’s get this over with,” he commented, gesturing her toward the lab and opening the door for her.  

“ _Miss Mabel Foster_ ,” Tony greeted from across the lab with a nod.  “Wanda told us your idea and I’ve got to say, you might be a genius.”

“That’s big coming from _you_ ,” Bruce scoffed with an eye-roll.  “It’s a good theory. We're willing to test it, if you’re up for it.”  

Wanda, Tony, Bruce, and Bucky all looked to Mabel expectantly.  

“I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”

* * *

 


	13. Love is Blindness

* * *

 

**“Love is clockworks and it’s cold steel.**

**Fingers too numb to feel.**

**Squeeze the handle.**

**Blow out the candle.**

**Blindness.”**  

 **-Jack White (** **_Love is Blindness_ ** **)**  

* * *

Gunfire.  Smoke.

Mabel was back in her blue French uniform.  It was 1918.   _Hot_.  It was summer.  

\Wasn’t her hair longer?  She looked around her surroundings.  Mabel was posted up in a tree at the edge of a large forest.  Below, a handful of men were ducking down behind shrubbery.  

 _Where are we?_ A distant voice asked.  Mabel knew that voice, _didn’t she?_  

She did.  It was Wanda.  Wanda had pulled her back here.  

“We’re in France,” she answered in French, startling herself.  Her body shifted automatically to kill a German officer trying to get a jump on her squadron.  “It’s summer.”

 _You’re doing very well._ Wanda communicated.   _Keep telling me what’s happening._

“Joseph is at the front of the group,” she saw his familiar form drop into the mud.  “We’re outside the lab where he’s going to retrieve the documentation for ‘The Ark’.”

_And please tell me what happens today._

“Joseph Rogers dies today,” the words caught in Mabel’s throat.  “There’s going to be a surprise mustard gas attack and I get distracted before I can warm him.  He gets out, but dies just after sunset.”

She watched the group break into the lab without too much trouble.  The guards were disposed of, the sirens didn’t even sound.  

_What are you seeing now?_

“They’re inside,” she replied quietly, her body going to adjust something on her rifle.  She scanned the horizon.  “Some Private I’d met this morning is going to get stabbed below me in a few seconds.”

A young man let out a shout of pain and despite her mental will, to keep her focus on the lab to protect Joseph, she bent down to shoot a German infantry member who’d slipped past their barrier.  

Shouts of German in the distance could be heard.  There was small explosion, a short burst of gunfire.  Mabel did her best to take out any visible targets, but it was no use.

“I jump out of the tree and pull my mask on,” she continued narrating as her body sprinted toward where she’d last seen her friend.  “The only person I manage to pull out is Joseph.”  

Wanda was silent.  Mabel knew she was seeing what Mabel saw, and it wasn’t a pretty picture.  

Joseph was on the ground, gasping and coughing for air.  His hands grabbed at his throat desperately.  

Mabel grabbed him and lifted him as best she could over her shoulders and ran.  The shouts of the other team members died out as they succumbed to the denser than usual gas.  

When Mabel was far enough away, she threw her mask to the side and knelt down by Joseph’s side.  

“Mabel…” he groaned, his voice hoarse and weak.  “There’s a letter… my wife…”

“You’re not dying today,” Mabel’s voice came as a surprise to her ears.  “Joseph.  Please.  Stay awake.  We’re close to camp.”  His eyes shut and Mabel leaned in closer, listening for a heartbeat.  He was still alive. 

She moved quickly, grabbing her belongings and charging back to camp.  He didn’t have a lot of time and Mabel wasn’t going to sacrifice her friend because of her own weakness.  Not today.  

 _The memory is getting fuzzy._  Wanda warned and Mabel could almost feel her heart jolt.   _Focus.  Get through the grief and show me the surroundings._

The hospital was set up in a half destroyed church outside of the village.  She shouted for help and two French soldiers sprinted over with a stretcher, helping her move Joseph to the nurse’s aid.  

She tried to follow, but she was pushed away.  

“Get some rest,” a nurse suggested.  Mabel sat down in front of the hospital and waited.  Her commanding officer passed by at one point to try and get a briefing from Joseph.  When he left the hospital, he paused and looked at Mabel on the ground.  

“Garnier,” the officer greeted gruffly.  “Follow me.  We need to talk.”

Mabel nodded and scrambled to her feet.

“The sun is going to set soon,” she informed Wanda, studying the violet haze that now blanketed the camp.  “He died shortly after sunset.”

_You’ve been through this before._

The officer pulled a brown satchel from his side and set it on the table.  

“He got Joseph’s satchel with the information in it,” Mabel leaned forward as he pulled out a large document and spread it across the table.

“Sir, why are you showing me this?” she questioned the officer quietly.  

“Joseph Rogers will have died for this before the night’s over,” he explained, studying the intricate blue print.  “I need _you_ to find it for me.”

Mabel took a few steps closer and looked at the blueprints.

_Perfect.  It’s there… It’s all there…_

“Do you have any leads?” Mabel questioned him, swallowing down the sob that threatened to erupt if she thought of anything aside from her duty.  

The officer looked up at his soldier and frowned.  

“Perhaps it’s best you return to the hospital for now,” he offered quietly.  “We can discuss the mission in the morning.”

Mabel took that as her cue to leave, and quickly parted the tent.  She hadn’t realized it at the time, but Mabel sprinted back to the hospital.  This time, a nurse greeted her with a tight, forced smile, and led her to the back of the hospital room where Joseph was sitting up in bed.  

“Joseph,” she whispered seeing the freshly singed skin, his mutated face.  They’d turned him into a monster for the sheer joy of it.  

“He’s dying,” Mabel explained to Wanda.  Mabel could vaguely feel her present self choking back a sob.  

_I’m so sorry._

“Me too, Wanda,” she whispered, her hands reaching to touch Joseph’s arm.  He stirred slightly, delusional from the painkillers the nurses had given him.  

“My letter,” he began to rasp out.  “In my barracks…”

“Shh,” Mabel soothed him.  “I will get it to your baby, you have my word.”

Joseph fell silent, before letting out a small whimper of pain.  He tried to move but the wounds cracked and he let out a scream.

“It _hurts_ Sarah,” he cried, reaching for Mabel’s hand and squeezing it tight.  “Make it stop.”

“I know,” Mabel’s voice cracked.  She could feel the tears that tumbled uncontrollably from her eyes, hot and stinging.  “It won’t hurt for very long.”

“Tell me about our... baby,” he whispered.  Mabel could barely hear him over the wheezing and coughing.  “Tell me about it’s eyes.”

Mabel paused a moment before speaking.

“He has your eyes,” she whispered, scooting closer so he could hear her better.  “It’s a boy.”

Of course Mabel knew nothing of the child at the time.  She was just guessing based off of Joseph’s desire to have a son.  

_Mabel…_

“A boy,” he gasped.  Mabel liked to imagine he was smiling under the scorched skin.

“You’ll be able to play catch with him,” she promised, forcing a smile through her tears.  A sob choked out and she pressed a fist into her mouth, swallowing it down.  “Just like you always wanted.”

“Blonde hair?” what Mabel could see of his eyes were searching her face desperately.  She nodded.  

“Just like you,” she lied as convincingly as she could.  “Joseph, everything’s going to be ok.  I promise.”

“I know, Sarah,” he gave her hand another squeeze, it was weaker this time.  “It stopped hurting.  I love you so much.”

He gave another wheeze.

“I love you too, Joseph,” Mabel managed through her sobs.  There was a short breath and he fell still.  There was no pulse.  He was gone.

_You did love him._

“I did,” Mabel confirmed, her memory growing foggy as she watched herself drop into the blankets, shaking and screaming in anguish.  “I still do.”

_You need to pull away.  Slowly…_

Mabel’s world shifted from the memory to darkness.  The agony and pain was as fresh as it had been the day he died.  She wanted to die with him.  She wanted to run and hide and scream and lay in the mud until a tank rolled over her.  

 _Let go, Mabel._ Wanda’s voice sounded weaker.   _I can’t pull out._

The suffering came in waves.  Mabel tried her best to wade through and get back to her body, but part of her didn’t want to go.  It wanted to suffer again.  It wanted to feel pain and happiness and sorrow.  

_Mabel, please, you’ve gotten through this before._

But she hadn’t successfully waded through the emotions.  She suffered until the day Hydra captured her.  Every morning her heart broke not seeing Joseph in the mess hall.  Every day she wanted to join him in the small cemetery outside of the french village.  

It was fresh.  It was still fresh.  Too fresh.  It’d only been a few months for _her_ , even if it’d been a century for everyone else.  

_Detach… please… Mabel I can’t hold this…_

“I’m trying…” Mabel’s voice was lost in the chaos of her mind.  

There was a flash of a gunshot.  Men dropping dead.  A familiar one-armed soldier.

And then darkness.

* * *

The pair had gone to a soundproof glass room to work.  They sat still, occasionally mumbling to one another through the connection.  At one point, Wanda used her powers to sketch an image of what she’d seen in Mabel’s mind.  

“It’s working,” Tony stated in disbelief, watching the blueprints come to life.  “It’s _actually_ working.”

Bruce leaned over the the billionaire’s shoulder to see the progress and shook his head.

“Amazing,” he looked to Tony.  “Do you know what this can do for your memory project?  Wanda might be able to help us jump further than we could have imagined.”

The scientists shot ideas back and forth while Bucky focused entirely on Mabel.  

Her body was trembling.  A few stray tears dropped down her cheeks, but the duo remained perfectly still.  

Bruce had attached monitors to both women, just to keep track of their vitals.  As expected, their heart rates picked up with the influx of emotion.  

“This is the anchor memory,” Bruce explained to Bucky as the assassin looked to him in concern.  “The stronger memory attached to the weaker one involving the blueprints.  They have to go all the way through or we might cause more memory damage.”

Bucky could see Mabel let out a scream, her chest heaving for air.  The machine next to him beeped wildly.  Every instinct shouted at him to burst in and protect her from the unseen pain.

“Can we pull them out?” he asked sharply.  Bruce shook his head sadly.  

“Wanda and Mabel have to do it themselves,” he explained.  “Wanda explained it like a freeway.  There’s going to be an exit they have to reach before they can leave the consciousness.  A lapse in memory, if you will.  It was a similar tactic when we worked with you, however, you weren’t consciously aware of the process like Mabel is.”

Bucky was practically pressed against the glass, watching Mabel suffer without any way of comforting her.  She continued letting out silent cries, her face contorting in pure misery.  He could feel his own heartbeat picking up with every passing second.   

He noticed out of the corner of his eye that Wanda was beginning to shake as well.  The pen she used to draw out the plans shot across the room and hit the glass.  Red energy circled around the duo and he looked to the vitals, which read out of control.  

“This needs to get shut down,” Tony voiced before Bucky could say the same thing, but as quickly as the storm surged, both women dropped from their sitting positions to the floor, unconscious.  It was silence for an instant.  Their pulses were nonexistent.  Bruce was already partially in the room when both woman’s vitals jumped back to life.  It was a slow rhythm, but it was something.  Bucky felt like he was going to be sick.

“They have a pulse!” Tony called from the lab, following after him.  Bucky slipped in quietly, watching the scientists fret over the pair.  

He couldn’t breathe.  He hadn’t been so scared in years.  

All Bucky could do was stare helplessly while Tony double checked Mabel’s pulse and breathing before cradling her in his arms.  “ _Loverboy_ , get Mabel to the med wing and I’ll let the others know what happened.”

Dazed, he took the woman from the genius and held her to his chest.  He walked on autopilot, staring down at her tiny form.  

She’d insisted it would be ok.  She promised.  

He lifted her to an empty bed, stretching her limbs and laying a blanket over her.  It was eerie how similar her expression mimicked the corpse he’d found months previously.  

It was almost peaceful.

He ran a thumb over the edges of her face, studying every detail, from the small freckle on her cheek to the way her lips filled.  As he reached to tuck a piece of hair out of her face, her eyes shot open, glowing bright red before she sat upright, gasping for air- her hazel gaze returning as she held her chest.

Mabel’s sight quickly fell on Bucky and she opened her mouth, breathing out a simple name.

“ _Le soldat_ ,” she whispered, her eyes darting around the room like a trapped animal.  “Where is he?!” She tried jumping out of bed, but had to be held down by Bucky.  She struggled against his grip snarling her words in French.  

 _“Let me go!_ ” she demanded sharply.  “ _You sick bastards!_ ”  

Steve had sprinted into the room, jumping in to assist Bucky as soon as he’d registered the situation.  Mabel’s attention was fixed fully on the brown haired soldier, hissing threats while Steve worked on pulling restraints from under the hospital bed.  

He appeared in Mabel’s eye line and she froze, her mouth gaping slightly.  

“Joseph?” she asked with wide eyes.  Her next words were in English for the Irish-American man.  “You’re supposed to be dead.”

Steve shot Bucky a desperate look, unsure how to proceed.  Bucky shrugged and mouthed.

_‘Go along with it.'_

“I think you’re confused,” Steve began, slowly wrapping the bed restraints around Mabel’s arms.  “You hit your head pretty badly in the field, Ma-”

“He called her ‘Bella’,” Bucky quickly whispered, ducking out of sight.  

“ _Bella_ ,” Steve cleared his throat and stood next to Mabel’s head while Bucky finished with her legs.  “Everything is alright, but the nurses want to make sure you’re didn’t ingest too much of the smoke.”  

“The smoke?” she asked, trying to lift an arm and glaring at the restraints.  She gave them a test pull and scowled.  “What smoke?  Joseph, I thought you were dead.   You died right in front of me… Begging me to send your letters to Sarah…” She shook her head, closing her eyes.  “The _soldier_.  Did you see the soldier?  The American boy?”

“The soldier?” he quirked a brow in confusion.  “I’m the only American soldier here, Bella.”

She blinked, studying him carefully, her brows knitting in concentration.

“What was the name of the child you lost?” she questioned, an emotionless mask sweeping her features.  Steve and Bucky both froze.  This was the first Bucky had heard of Sarah losing a child before Steve.  The blonde struggled for an answer before Tony entered the room, a large bruise forming under his eye.

“I see you two locked her down before any damage could be done,” he grumbled, passing Steve a tablet and looking Mabel over.  “Unfortunately, Bruce and I caught on a little late and Wanda punched me in the eye while screaming about me murdering her family.”

“Amnesia?” Steve guessed, but Tony shrugged helplessly.  

“Sure, we can call it that,” he answered, flashing light in Mabel’s eyes, earning a hiss from the blonde woman.  “Bruce is calling it retrograde memory something or other.”

Mabel’s attention remained on Steve.  

“You never answered my question,” she stated dryly.

Steve stumbled over words before blurting out the first family member name that came to mind.

“ _Maria_ ,” he tried stating the name with as much confidence as possible.  Lord help him if he was wrong...  

Yet, Mabel’s expression softened.

“ _It’s really you_ ,” she whispered, her body language loosening significantly.  Bucky had never seen Mabel so relaxed before.  It was like a completely different person.  “You’re not dead.  It was just a terrible nightmare.”

“You really think I’d leave you behind in this hellhole?” he joked, trying his best to remain composed under Tony’s and Bucky’s expectant gazes.  “But you need to get some sleep.  The smoke you inhaled might make you a little…” he tried to remember a phrase his mom would use when he was a child.  “ _Kooky_.”

“You’ll be here when I wake?” she asked, almost innocently.  It was like a child nervous to go back to sleep during a storm.

Steve reached over and touched her hand.

“I promise Bella,” he offered a smile and replaced the blanket over her.  “Sleep well.”

She closed her eyes obediently and the three men shuffled out of the room, locking the door behind them.

“The hell was that?” Tony asked the blonde, shaking his head at the bizarre scene.

“She thinks Steve is his father,” Bucky quickly explained, trying to wrap his head around the side of Mabel he’d just seen.  

“We figured going with it would be better than starting from scratch,” Steve reasoned with a sigh.  “Any idea how to fix this?”

“None,” Tony groaned.  “The only positive to all of this is that we got the specs for the machine, so we know what to keep an eye on incase Rumlow starts stealing parts.”

“I told her this was a terrible idea,” Bucky grumbled under his breath.  “Damn stubborn woman.”

“It was the exact same way dealing with you, Buck,” Steve reminded him with a pat on the shoulder.  He gave it a sympathetic squeeze and frowned.  “We need to reconvene and discuss our options.  With Wanda down, the team loses a big hitter.  Plus, Rumlow and Hydra are still lurking around with that early information, even if we did get a win tonight.”

“ _Wonderful_ ,” Bucky said sardonically.  “Everything just goes to hell in a handbag at once.”

“We’ll figure out how to save your girlfriend, Barnes, _relax_ ,” Tony held the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed in thought.  

Bucky stuttered his response.

“S-she’s not my-,” he tried, earning him an arched brow from Steve.  Bucky snorted under his breath and turned the opposite way down the hall.  “I’m going to find Nat and see if she has any new intel.”

He could feel Steve and Tony’s eyes following him out of sight, but Bucky wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of sending one last look at Mabel’s room.  

He’d stop by later, _alone_.

* * *

It was strange for Steve to take on the role of someone he’d never met.  Mabel woke up after a few hours and demanded to see him before allowing Bruce to administer a test serum in her arm.  

They tried their best to stick with the biological warfare story, but Mabel was perceptive and quickly asked about the various pieces of medical equipment surrounding her.

“You’re in a government hospital,” Steve offered lightly.  “Top of the line, best of the best.”

She’d narrow her eyes and eventually allow whatever test that was coming to proceed.  

Steve couldn’t quite place where her mind was.  Occasionally she’d ask about the unnamed brown-haired soldier who Steve knew as Bucky.  Then she’d ask about a mission that had occurred years before her capture, like it was yesterday.  Somewhere in her head, she knew Joseph had been hurt and died.  She constantly made comments along the lines of how happy she was to see him well.  

One particular comment caught Steve’s interest when she brought up the letters to Sarah Rogers again.

“I have them in my knapsack,” she assured him with a small smile.  “No one will touch them and I’ll give them back when I’m out.  I promise.”

Steve made a mental note to ask Buck about anything regarding letters to his mother.  Perhaps it wasn’t the first time Mabel had brought them up.  

She’d occasionally ask him about his child.  Mabel was ecstatic to find out it was a boy.

“That’s _wonderful_ ,” she praised as the night went on.  “You were so sure it was a girl again, but perhaps you got lucky.  A nice, strong boy.  What a blessing to your family.”

By the time it was close to three am, Mabel had begun to drift into a fitful sleep.  Bruce went over some of the things he’d tried to trigger her mind back to reality, but it hadn’t worked.  

“I’m debating calling in Strange,” he mumbled, his expression revealing that he wasn’t particularly fond of the idea.  “He might be able to pull Wanda back, and in turn, Mabel.”

“He might be helpful with regard to Hydra as well,” Steve offered while they parted the room.  

“Have you ever met the guy?  He’s like Tony on steroids with _magic_ ,” Bruce snorted under his breath.  “He’s humbled down a bit since his accident, but it’s still a bit unbearable.”

Steve offered a smile of sympathy.

“I’m sure you’ll make the best decision, Bruce,” he parted on those words, leaving the doctor to mutter to himself about potential equations and chemicals.  

Bucky was in one of the community kitchens struggling with the coffee maker when Steve found him.

“It has all of these buttons,” he complained loudly, gesturing to the device.  “What happened to pouring hot water through coffee beans?”

Steve shoved him away and pressed two buttons, placing a mug under the spout.  

“Did Mabel ever mention letters from my father to you?” he inquired while Bucky watched the hot liquid flow into the mug.  The assassin looked to his friend questioningly, and Steve quickly added the context to his question.  “She mentioned letters that she was supposed send to my mother.”

Bucky hummed, acknowledging the question and taking a small sip of his drink.

“She did,” he confirmed, stirring a bit of milk into his mug.  “She never read them though, so she couldn’t tell me any details about what they said.”

Steve had hoped that Bucky would have had more to contribute to the mystery and sighed at the response.  Bucky moved to the large table outside of the room, patting at a seat next to him.

“Stop _sulking_ ,” he ordered teasingly.  “She has them.  We found them in Paris.  I wanted her to give them to you instead of me.  I thought it’d be more sentimental.”

“Do you know where they are?” Steve’s expression lit up at the news.  If he could get a little more insight into his father’s mind, maybe he’d be able to-

“I have no idea,” Bucky admitted quietly.  “I’m not even sure if she brought them to the Tower.  Even if she did, I’d wait until she snaps back.  Who knows what they even say?  Wouldn’t you want her around to answer any questions you may have?  I’m pretty sure Mabel knew him almost as well as your mom.”

Steve weighed the suggestion a moment, his heart sinking.

“And if she doesn’t snap back?” he asked.  Bucky’s expression sank, his eyes focusing on his coffee on the table.

“Then we’ll track them down and read them,” he promised.  “We’ll read everything and keep trying to bring her back.”

Steve watched his friend’s walls build back up.  He should have known that Mabel was a sore spot with Bucky.  After, what Steve assumed, was a kiss in Paris, they’d been separated _again_.  He was pretty sure neither of the former Hydra assets had any idea on how to sort through their feelings.  

It was definitely more complicated than a normal relationship.  Who knew how far back their pasts intertwined?    Bucky gave him bits and pieces, while Mabel was an expert at evading the topic.  He just guessed that it wasn’t a pretty situation.  

His heart ached for the pair.  In any other situation he could have seen Bucky falling head over heels for a woman like Mabel.  She was independent, stubborn, smart as a whip, and possessed that timeless beauty.  The same went for Bucky.  From what Steve had gathered from the pair, Bucky was a solid match for her.  He leveled with her, guiding her through history lessons and helping her adjust to some of the new age frustrations.  

“It’s just a small setback,” Steve voiced after silence fell between the pair.  “We’ll bring them back.”

Bucky look up at his friend and gave him a sad smile.  

For an instant, it looked like he believed Steve.  

* * *

 


	14. History Lesson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I've finally finished my grad apps and have returned from the land of the stressed! 
> 
> A few notes for this chapter:
> 
> -Normally I name the chapters after songs that helped inspire them, including important verses, yada, yada. For this one, I put the section of one of the songs on my playlist in the chapter itself, but the chapter name "History Lesson", comes from the Wonder Woman Original Soundtrack from the 2017 movie. This song and "Pain, Loss& Love" were on repeat for the majority of writing this chapter. Highly recommend you look them up and listen while reading. 
> 
> -I wrote this chapter so many times, you have no idea. I really wanted to get their reunion just right, and make sense of all of the memory stuff between Mabel and Wanda. I hope I did it justice, I finished this chapter with a fever and literally no sleep in the last few days. 
> 
> Last of all, I hope you enjoy! I'm super excited to be back writing again! Thank you all for your support and patience!

* * *

  **“If I told you this was only gonna hurt**

**If I warned you that the fire's gonna burn**

**Would you walk in? Would you let me do it first?**

**Do it all in the name of love**

**Would you let me lead you even when you're blind?**

**In the darkness, in the middle of the night**

**In the silence, when there's no one by your side**

**Would you call in the name of love?”**

  **-Bebe Rexha** **(In the Name of Love)**  

* * *

**1951- Location Unknown**

 

“What’s my name?” the American boy asked, a smile evident in his tone.  Mabel paused in thought, her head resting backward on the cold stone wall that surrounded her cell, aside from a steel barred entrance that faced the cell of her companion.  

“Jim…” she tried, frowning as she grasped in the depths of her mind for a name.  “Jacob…”

“Close,” he assured her.  “‘J-A’ is right.”

“James!” She exclaimed excitedly.  “And your last name… something with a farm…”

He let out a low chuckle as she tried to recall the information.  The questions had become a game for the two prisoners, despite its importance in helping them remain sane between medical procedures and missions that required memory wipes.  

“Barn, wait,” she slowly nodded to herself.  “Barn _es._  James Barnes.”

This time around, Mabel had been sent to Russia to kill some kind of high powered general.  They’d wiped her almost immediately when she returned, her only knowledge of even leaving being provided by James.

“And your full name?” he quizzed, tapping on the metal as she dug through her memories.  She knew she was Mabel.  But did she really know it?  James called her Mabel when she woke up.  

“I don’t know,” she confessed, closing her eyes and straining.  Her voice cracked as she spoke.  “Why don’t I know?”

“Keep thinking,” he pushed.  “You have a full name.  You _are_ someone.”

“Mabel,” she began, hoping that verbalizing it would help trigger something in her head.  “Mabel…” Names popped up as she repeated her name.  Garnier.  Marie.  Jonah.  Barnes.  Buchanan.  Steve.  Joseph.   _Foster_.

“Foster,” her voice grew in confidence.  “Mabel Foster.”

“And your middle name?”

“Marie?” she tried, but his silence indicated she was wrong.  Why couldn’t she remember?  

“What’s _my_ middle name?” he tried, changing the question slightly.  “I told you yesterday, do you remember?  It’s my nickname.”

“ _Steve_ ,” she recited with a nod.  “He called you…” she struggled for the noun.

“Starts with a ‘B’,” he tried, pulling along the mental string in her head.  

“Bucky,” she recalled quickly.  “James… Bucky… short for… A president.”

“He died before you were born,” James offered.  

“ _Buchanan_.”

“Good,” he gave a small clap and a chuckle.  “And your middle name?”

“Foster…” she ran through the names again.  “Jonah… Jonah Foster…  Who’s Jonah?”

“Your brother,” James confirmed.  “I have a sister, what’s her name?”

“Becca,” Mabel recited.  “Rebecca.  Rebecca Barnes.”

“Your middle name?”

Mabel’s head pulsed, trying to pull the memory free.

“I don’t know,” she whispered.  “My head hurts.  Why don’t I know?”

“Deep breaths,” he murmured across the aisle toward his agitated prison-mate.  

Mabel’s temple’s burned, the back of her neck stiffening in agonizing pain as she tried so hard to picture the name, to hear someone whisper it in the the back of her mind.  

“I can’t…” she realized she was gasping for air, her palms pressed into her forehead.   

“Florence,” James finally stated.  “Mabel Florence Foster.”

“Mabel Florence Foster,” she repeated to herself, standing and beginning to pace in her small cell.

James frowned as the blonde moved frantically, mumbling phrases as they came to her.  He knew soon enough he’d be in the same boat, his mind and memories ripped away from him after he slaughtered an innocent life.

He only wished he knew a way out of the desolate base.  

He didn’t know what year it was.  He didn’t know where they were.  Hydra was thorough in their memory wipes.  Hell, he wasn’t even sure how old _he_ was anymore.

It had to have been some time since he fell from the train.  He had a new arm and Mabel’s hair had gotten longer.  But once when he’d mentioned it, she commented the same.  

There was something else Hydra was doing to the pair of them to keep them compliant.  

He’d overheard one of the doctor’s talking about her pregnancy, and the next time he saw her, she was complaining about a toddler.  Time had lapsed somehow and he didn’t know how Hydra had done it.  

 _“Bucky Barnes,”_ Mabel had stated firmly.  “That’s easy to remember.  I’ll remember that.”

“Miss Mabel,” he teased in response.  

“Please don’t forget me,” the blonde woman whispered after a pause of silence between them.  

“Never,” he promised, his flesh hand clenching into a fist at his side.  “We’re going to get out of here, remember?”

“Back to Brooklyn,” she recalled softly.  

“Back to Brooklyn and _our families,”_ he continued.

“My family is probably dead,” she whispered in realization, the familiar cold tone of her voice settling back over his companion.

“Then my Ma’ll take care of you,” he replied.  “And Stevie, he’ll just love you.  We can go to Coney Island.  You remember Coney Island, right?”

“Do you think it’s still there?” she asked with a dry chuckle.  

“Definitely.”

“Ok, _Bucky Barnes._  I believe you.”

“We’ll get hotdogs, and I’ll win you prize at one of the games…”

“There are games?”  Her voice perked in excitement.

“The games are somethin’ else, I gotta tell ya…”

* * *

**Present- Avengers Tower- Manhattan**

 

“There is a lot of unchecked aggression in both of these women,” Dr. Stephen Strange hovered his hands over the unconscious Wanda and Mabel, frowning in thought as he scoured their minds.  

“Join the club,” Bruce mumbled, keeping track of both of their vital signs as the sorcerer dug deeper into their collective consciousness.

“Neither of them have fully come to terms with their personal losses,” Strange commented, closing his eyes.  “It’s no wonder the psychic backlash was so strong.  Plus similar abuse, torture, experimentation… _war_.”

“Ok, they’re soul sisters or something,” Tony leaned up against the wall, crossing his arms impatiently. _“Can you fix it?”_

Strange’s eyes opened and he snorted under his breath.  

“I believe so,” he replied, his hands no longer glowing as he pulled away.  “I need to check a few texts on the Mind Stone before proceeding, just to be certain of the power I’m dealing with.”

“You think the Infinity Stones could have played a role?” Steve asked in surprise.

“It’s where everyone here gets most of their power,” Strange reasoned coolly.  “I’m not a betting man, but I’d put my money on that being the cause of their current mental confusion.”

“Go figure they’re _still_ a headache for us,” Sam groaned, holding the bridge of his nose between his fingers.  

“They’ve existed since the beginning of time itself, they’ll probably stick around, Sam,” Bruce retorted, poking at one of the touch screens above Wanda.  

“Do what you have to do, Doctor,” Steve turned to the sorcerer and nodded curtly.  “All of our resources are at your disposal, just tell us what we can do to help.”

* * *

**Maine- Potential Hydra Base**

 

Bucky was less than thrilled at being seperated from Mabel.  Steve promised to look after the confused super soldier, but Bucky wanted to be there in person.  Steve wouldn’t know how to deal with the night terrors, or the calls of help in German or Russian.  He wouldn’t know which dessert to sneak her after hours or how many pillows she liked...

According to the phone call Natasha had received that morning, Dr. Stephen Strange had been called in to assess the situation.  There wasn’t any news aside from that, but the team back in New York seemed optimistic.  

Bucky, Natasha, and the Spider-child had been dispatched to survey a potential Hydra base and intervene if necessary.  Crossbones had been seen in the area and there’d be murmurs of a small operation within the tourist town.

It’d been a little over two days since their arrival, and Bucky was beginning to think the whole trip had been a waste of time.  Thus far, nothing unusual had occurred, and the warehouses they’d surveyed seemed little more than storage for the local residents.

Nat had been insistent that her informant had given her a good lead, but even the Parker kid was growing impatient with the redhead’s stubbornness.  

“I say we go in tonight, if there’s nothing, we go home,” Bucky proposed back at their hotel while they ate later that night.  He and Nat had done a walk through the small town and found another untouched storage facility toward the edge of the city lines.  When he had Peter run schematics on it, a few signals picked up suspicious activity, but nothing more unusual than a drug trafficking site.  Still, it was something.

He already knew that the kid would be in agreement, instead, Bucky held his attention on Natasha as she thoughtfully cut into her chicken breast.  

“Fine,” she finally spoke after mulling the idea in silence.  “After nightfall.”

Finally, Bucky thought to himself, they’d be able to get this awful mission over with.  The sooner they had an answer, the sooner he could get back to the compound.

The trio geared up after eating, and while Peter stretched in the living room, Natasha pulled Bucky aside.  

“What is it?” he questioned, sensing the unease that rolled off of the woman.

“You need to keep your head straight,” she warned, her eyes scanning over his features.  “You’re distracted.  Mabel is safe.  You need to focus.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” he assured her sharply.  “I have no reason to be distracted from the mission.”

“You’re terrible at lying,” she stated before turning abruptly and leaving the room to adjust her equipment and talk over schematics with Parker.  

Bucky stood, frozen in place at the woman’s words.  He wasn’t distracted.  He knew exactly what he needed to do.  

Attaching a gun to his back, he looked to the pair and nodded, ready to proceed.

* * *

“The stones attach to similarities, both emotional and physical,” Strange explained, his ungloved fingers working quickly in the air above the sleeping psychic.  “Wanda’s connection to Vision, the staff’s work with the Tesseract, the tesseract playing a role in Hydra’s enhancements of their subjects… I think you see where I’m going with this.”

“Bucky was experimented on when he was captured by Hydra,” Steve stated to the group.  “I’m willing to bet they didn’t just test their _theories_ on him.”

“ _Bingo_ ,” Strange replied, not bothering to look up at the super soldier as he worked.  “Science and magic are seldom different my friends, it just depends on perspective.”

He clapped his hands and strands of red began to pull from both Wanda and Mabel’s heads.  Strange plucked the air tenderly, studying each wisp as if they were telling him their secrets.  

The other occupants of the room were mesmerized.  The red strands soon shifted to blue as he pulled at the air near Mabel.  Yellow soon streamed from Wanda, and the color moved around the room in gentle waves.  

“These,” Strange announced, waving a hand over one of the sections of color.  “Are Wanda Maximoff and Mabel Foster’s every memory and experience.”

An image filled the room of a weeping Wanda being cradled by the later Pietro.  It was in the Avengers’ perspective, her eyes being clouded by her tears.  Next to them, a Stark bomb had implanted itself into a war torn living room.  Mangled corpses of their parents lay a few meters away, in clear sight of their hideaway.  The bomb blinked tauntingly at the terrified siblings.

A haze of blue drifted toward Steve, he reached forward hesitantly before another image of a laughing Mabel walking through a village with his father next to her.  They shared a baguette, occasionally breaking pieces off to pass to the children who encountered them.  

Strange worked his hands, pulling and muttering his incantation under his breath.  The colors spun, an image of Wanda cradling her brother’s dead body came into sight, Tony looked away with a flinch.  

“Is that _Bucky_?” Bruce asked, nudging Steve in the arm with his elbow.  The soldier looked up at a lingering memory.  It was hazy, weaker in clarity than some of the others, but sure enough, his friend was staring straight at them.  

His hair was shorter, his left arm a mangled mess of mechanics.  

“I thought they only met once or twice?” Tony muttered, stepping closer and examining the image.  

A light flashed, a darker colored memory shot out; the French countryside in the late 1940s.  A man threw down a newspaper and Mabel was handed a weapon.  

Bucky was also there, his eyes clouded over, his expression stoic as he threw down a tied man in a Russian uniform.  

“They knew each other,” Steve realized before looking up at Tony.  “Bucky didn’t mention any of this.”

“Mabel didn’t either,” Sam supplied quietly, observing as the scene changed to Mabel watching Bucky sleep in a cell across from her.  Auburn hair had fallen into her eyes, she looked down at her hands and they were covered in blood.  A guard opened the cell door and pulled her out aggressively.  Patches of obscure images, dead soldiers in trenches, and a final thought of Steve’s father after the mustard gas attack…

Steve didn’t notice he’d stopped breathing until Tony set a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Miss Maximoff was pulled in by Miss Foster’s intense grief,” Stephen snapped his fingers and the images disappeared, leaving wisps of colors circling around each of the young women.  “The connection was strong enough to confuse both of their memories, but hopefully this spell can adjust things.”

Just as the sorcerer was about to finish his spell, Steve spoke up.

“Wait,” the blonde stepped forward, the colors still bouncing around the room.  

“Steve…” Bruce vocalized in a low voice, werie of the leader’s sudden interest in the procedure.  

“Can you pull the memories again?  Later on?” he asked, his gaze falling on Strange in the center of the room.  

“For your father?” the doctor guessed quietly.  Bruce, Sam and Tony stood frozen in a small semi-circle a few feet away from him.  

“For Bucky,” Steve corrected, one of the colors drifting over his outstretched fingers.  “ _And_ for Mae.  They deserve to remember their lives, even if it wasn’t always pleasant.”

Strange didn’t reply immediately.  He continued with the spell until the lights were pulled into the chests of Mabel and Wanda, the room falling still as all of the Avengers watched the women’s chests rise and fall with each soft breath.

Wanda woke first.  Her eyes were bright red, as if detecting a threat, but slowly they returned to their natural hue as they flickered around the familiar room.  Slowly, she sat up and looked to the cloaked sorcerer with a serene smile.  

“Thank you,” she murmured, an unspoken connection now between the witch and the doctor.

“Don’t thank me just yet,” Stephen replied, his attention drifting to an unmoving Mabel.  Wanda’s brows furrowed as she swung her legs over the edge of her gurney, blinking at the other woman in concern.  Steve stepped toward her, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze of comfort.  He knew Wanda had a tendency to blame herself, even if it wasn’t necessarily her fault.

“The memory wipes-,” Tony voiced, breaking the tense silence of the room.  Strange just nodded, cutting off the question but knowing full well what the genius intended to ask.

“It’s possible,” Strange agreed, pulling his leather gloves over his damaged fingers, his eyes never moving from the centenarian patient.

Steve lingered near Wanda, smiling in reassurance when the younger woman sent him an uneasy frown.  

That’s when Mabel’s eyes sprung open.

She gasped for air like she’d been trapped in water, her entire torso shooting up as she grabbed at her chest.  Tony moved first, holding up calming hands as he stepped toward her.

“Welcome back to reality,” he stated as Mabel scanned the room, her body language softening as she took in the space.  Her friends… her _family_.

* * *

Natasha didn’t have to scold him for losing focus, Bucky should have known she was right when she warned him.  He knew better.  He’d been trained better.   

The site had been silent, not a soul to be found when Parker breached the rooftop.  It didn’t take long before the kid announced that they needed to get inside to see something for themselves.  

Bucky should have seen the sniper a mile away, but in his eagerness, they charged forward, resulting in a clean shot through his shoulder blade.  

Nat handled the unseen threat with ease, glared toward Bucky, and continued moving through the shadows.  

They didn’t even have to hear Parker’s warning in their earpieces; _they’d stepped into an ambush._

Armed agents swarmed Natasha and Bucky, forcing the pair to break off from one another to lessen their numbers.  He probably killed over a dozen men before he spied Rumlow inside the facility.  

“I’m moving in,” he reported to his teammates.  “I have eyes on Rumlow.”

That had been the plan after all.  Bucky was in charge of capturing Rumlow, Natasha was to handle intelligence and Parker was the lookout.  

Bucky really did know better.  He moved toward the entrance of the building, nearly catching himself in an explosion that detonated over his head, the sound of Rumlow cackling over the roaring flames.

 _“Get your head out of your ass, Barnes,”_ Natasha hissed through the comms.  

He snarled in frustration and kicked aside a piece of burning debris, ignoring the shot of pain that echoed through his body.  He had one chance.  He fired at Rumlow’s torso, but the former Hydra agent had disappeared into the shadows by the time Bucky was close enough to take the shot.

“I can’t believe you were the fist of Hydra,” Rumlow called, charging at Bucky from behind.  He’d updated his exoskeleton, the machine hitting the super soldier with more impact than Bucky had expected.  

Bucky swung an elbow into Rumlow’s chest, throwing the agent off balance long enough for Bucky to kick him down.  

Rumlow rolled to the side, swinging a leg out and hitting Bucky just behind the knee.  The former asset flinched, allowing Rumlow to grab his bloodied shoulder and throw him backward into a pile of wooden cargo boxes.  

“You’re weak,” he continued to taunt.  “Did they send the B Team Avengers?”

“That’s really hurtful,” Parker’s voice swung into distance.  “I thought the team had potential this year.”  The teenager fired his webbing to the front of Rumlow’s suit and strung him up, pinning down the terrorist's arms.  

Bucky leapt to his feet at the new opportunity and tackled him to the ground, ripping off his face mask.  

Rumlow ripped free of his bindings, throwing Bucky back with a push.  The spy landed on his feet this time, pulling his gun free and firing a few shots toward potentially vulnerable spots in Rumlow’s armor.

 _“That tickled,”_ he gaffed.  

“Then you’re gunna love this,” Parker swung from the rafters, hitting Rumlow from the side and sending the man flying across the room.  Rumlow smashed into a concrete pillow, grunting in pain before cracking his neck and running forward, her suit enhancing his speed as he went.  

“Kid, you don’t want to fight this battle,” he growled, swinging at Spiderman, but Parker was too fast.  

“He’s playing with you two,” Natasha’s voice sounded in Bucky’s ear.  “I’m seeing the place is set to blow in less than a minute.  Get out, _now.”_

“Spidey!” Bucky nodded toward an exit behind him, the younger Avenger began to swing away, sending a hesitant look toward his teammate.  “Just get out of here!”

“Aww, fatherhood suits you,” Rumlow adjusted the shoulders on his suit and smirked.  “It’s nice to see _dogs_ after they have their _pups.”_  

“Screw you-,” Bucky fired shots into the ceiling, turning on his heel into a sprint as the debris fell, giving him time to escape Rumlow.  Just as Bucky made it to Natasha, the building burst into flames, the roof caving in and smoke pouring out of the sides.   

Natasha’s eyes fell on the bullet wound in Bucky’s shoulder.  She merely smirked before radioing Clint for pickup.  

“You’re lucky I got some data out,” Natasha teased on the way back to the compound.  “It was an old base.  Rumlow and his crew were almost finished moving out.”  

“And here I thought you’d be mad,” Bucky commented while Clint leaned over his injury, cleaning the area with careful hands.  

“I am mad,” she clarified sharply, but her expression remained soft.  “However, I’m also glad we got out in one piece.”

“So, no lecture?” Bucky questioned, brows raised.  Normally Natasha would be giving him a full rundown on all of the areas he’d messed up.  

“I think the bullet hurts more than anything I could come up with,” she replied, smirking when Clint went into the wound with a pair of tweezers.  “And I’d hate to ruin your night.”

Bucky hissed under his breath at a twinge of pain, before his head shot up at Natasha’s last words.

“Did it work?” he demanded quickly.  

 _“Stop moving,”_ Clint warned, poking at Bucky’s skin with a gloved hand.

“Nat?”

The redhead let out a long sigh before passing along her cell phone.  On the screen was a text from Steve, short, and to the point: _He did it._

Tension flew from his body, the stress and anxiety that had settled in his stomach was finally lifting as he read those three words.

“You look like you just won the lottery,” Peter commented, pulling off the upper portion of his suit to the black undergarments.

“It’s the closest damn thing,” Bucky muttered under his breath, regaining his composure, much to the amusement of Clint and Natasha.  

* * *

“ _They’re back_ ,” Wanda murmured, sitting up from next to Mabel on Wanda’s large bed.  The pair hadn’t left one another’s sides since Dr. Strange had repaired their minds.  

Neither of the women wanted to be alone, yet found that their unusual connection had created an experience that couldn’t be shared with anyone; unless they’d experienced it for themselves.  

Mabel stretched lazily, her limbs having fallen asleep from lounging in place while talking with the Sokovian woman.

“Are they unharmed?” she inquired, moving slowly, as not to appear too eager to see her friend.  

Wanda paused, a hint of a frown on her features as her eyes glowed red.

“Bucky was injured,” she began, but Mabel had already moved out of the room toward the medical bay.  Wanda chuckled to herself and tossed aside the book she’d been reading aloud, following after her.  

“You should really tell people when you’re leaving,” Wanda joked, catching up with the blonde down the hall.  

“I’m sorry,” Mabel apologized sincerely, lost for a moment in the maze of hallways and rooms.  

“Another left,” Wanda instructed, grinning at the woman’s eagerness.  As the pair moved closer and closer to Bucky's location, Wanda could almost _feel_ Mabel’s racing heart.

When Mabel finally found the medical wing, she peered into each individual room until-

Wanda felt it before she saw it- the catch in her breath, the pause, the overwhelming surge of emotion…

“ _James_ ,” Mabel greeted softly, stepping slowly into the room where Dr. Banner was examining the soldier’s shoulder.  

“ _Mabel_ ,” he replied in a similar tone, a playful smile tugging at the edge of his mouth.

Mabel stood a foot or so from where he sat, making a mental checklist of new bruises or cuts, pausing at his shoulder.  

“You were shot,” she realized, moving forward without second thought.  Bruce had just finished stitching the wound, as she studied the tiny stitches up Bucky’s shoulder blade.  

“I feel like I should be the one in awe,” he laughed, grabbing a clean shirt from the doctor and shrugging it back on.  He stood up, towering over her before he pulled her into an excited hug.  “You’re… _back.”_

Mabel slowly wrapped her arms around him, breathing in his familiar scent, before he pulled away sheepishly grinning.  

“Sorry,” he murmured.  “I know you just…”

He didn’t get a chance to finish before she pulled him tight against her body once more.

She pressed her face into his torso, trying to memorize every detail of the moment.  She wanted to be able to remember the way his chest shook when he laughed, or exactly how his hands fit around her as he clung closer to her.  

“I told you it was a bad idea,” he stated, pressing his face into her hair as he spoke.    

“I should have listened,” she agreed softly, a small laugh erupting from her.  He carefully pulled away, his hands still interlocked over her shoulders.

“You _should_ have,” he agreed, frowning.  “ _Sometimes_ I know what I’m talking about, even if you and Steve seem to think otherwise.”

“You’re the same way,” she countered, leaning to press her forehead against his.

“You’re _worse_ ,” he insisted, his blue eyes meeting hers.

“Steve’s worse,” she reasoned lightly, earning another embrace from the super soldier before they were ushered out of the medical room by an annoyed Bruce.  

“You both are just terrible,” Wanda voiced with an eye roll once she located the duo.  She sent Mabel a knowing smile before turning her attention to Bucky.  “Natasha needs you for a debriefing.”

Bucky looked to Mabel, hesitating slightly, before Mabel gave his hand a small squeeze, indicating he should go.  

“We _will_ talk,” he assured her, walking backwards toward the administrative side of the compound.  “I promise.”

Mabel watched him part with a small wave, not noticing the amusement in Wanda’s eyes at the interaction.  

“Star-crossed lovers,” the brunette commented, guiding Mabel back toward the residential areas.  Mabel didn’t say a word, only once glancing over her shoulder, meeting eyes for the briefest of moments with the departing Bucky Barnes.  

* * *

 


	15. Willow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello readers! I mentioned in the last chapter that I have a bunch of music that inspires this fic. I decided to share my Spotify playlist with all of you, just in case you’re interested in listening while reading! The link is on my profile, just copy, paste and enjoy! I’m always updating it, so check it out for funky fresh new tunes (just kidding, the music is super moody and angsty). 
> 
> Aside from that, enjoy chapter 15! (Already? Geez.)
> 
> Comment and Kudos if you enjoyed it! <3

* * *

**“Summers and winters, through snowy Decembers.**

**Sat by the water, remembering the embers,**

**Missing out the lives they once had before.”**

**-Jasmine Thompson (Willow)**

* * *

 “Is there anything new that you remember?” Wanda asked later that week, late in the afternoon when both of the women had eaten and settled into Mabel’s room.  They were both sprawled out on Mabel’s king-sized mattress, reading to themselves and occasionally chatting.

Soft jazz hummed through the large space and Wanda had been the first to break the peaceful silence the pair fell into a few hours previously. 

Mabel glanced over the edge of her paperback copy of _Animal Farm_ , her brows pressed in bemusement after being pulled from her trance. 

“What do you mean?” she asked, studying the familiar look Wanda had given her.  Her eyes were slightly narrowed, the exact way Tony and Sam’s were when they brought up Dr. Krauss.  Wanda was leading up to something, but Mabel had no idea what.

 “We shared memories,” the brunette led with, sitting up on the bed and setting her own copy of _The Catcher in the Rye_ aside.  “But, there were a few that were hazy, or unclear.  It reminded me of trauma or PTSD…”

Mabel straightened her spine at the small confession, her lips pulled back into an uneasy frown.  Certainly, there were some unaddressed lapses in memory.  That was the initial plan with the group; to try and figure out altered or missing memories from Hydra.  It was the standard therapy the Wakandans had done with Bucky and now her. 

But from what Mabel could gather, the lapses weren’t extreme.  She knew who she was and where she came from, so logically, there couldn’t have been too many wipes.

Not like Bucky.

“What do you recall?” the female soldier asked softly, the music soothing the atmosphere significantly.  A soft bass line framed the undertone of Mabel’s heartrate. 

“ _Bucky_ ,” Wanda stressed the name, her face scrunching up in thought.  She closed her eyes and reached for Mabel’s hands, the former’s beginning to glow their crimson color. 

The women had been doing this the entire week.  They’d inevitably find one another’s company and occasionally ask for context in a shared memory from their companion.  They were closer now that sisters, having experienced what the other had experienced, first hand.

Wanda mediated the process, using an extremely weaker means of connecting their minds than before.  All she needed was a small tug on an already present memory and the connection would be made.

When Mabel’s hands touched hers, the blonde’s world immediately shifted to an unclear scene around them.  It was as if she was watching a movie, but the camera lens had been smudged with rain drops or oil. 

A dark cell surrounded what looked like a slightly younger, Mabel Foster.  She was gazing into a broken mirror, slowly running her hands over dull, blonde hair that ran past her shoulders onto a dirty, knee length, hospital gown. 

A muffled voice in the distance made the younger version of Mabel turn her head toward the cell bars that separated her tiny cell from a darkened hall. 

The memory flickered, much like a glitch in a computer game or video, and Mabel seemed to have jumped across the cell, her forehead pressed against the cool bar of the cell, listening to the unknown voice.  More than anything, present day Mabel wished she could decipher the mumbled voice’s words.

Memory Mabel, would close her eyes as the voice continued talking to her.  Sometimes there’d be another flash of darkness, or she would clutch at her head in pain, a throb that echoed through both Wanda and Mabel’s minds as they watched the story play out. 

It was a simple memory, but Mabel had no recollection of the event whatsoever.  Where was this cell? 

In an instant, Wanda cut the connection, bringing them back to the present, both seated on Mabel’s bed in silent contemplation. 

“My hair was short when I was captured,” Mabel confirmed after a pause, her own hands going to finger her now shoulder length locks.  “When I escaped, it was a little longer than this and dyed.  The last time I’d grown it past my shoulders was the summer before my father was killed.”

Wanda didn’t speak, her eyes focusing on a space of fabric in front of her, listening intently to her friend’s words. 

“Hydra tried to erase the memories of their experimentation on Pietro and I,” she finally spoke, her head tilting upward to meet Mabel’s eye line.  “All of it came back, _eventually_.  It started in small chunks, when I realized subtle changes between periods of blackouts.  My nails would be longer, or a once fresh cut had turned to a scar.”

 Mabel kept her facial movements controlled, knowing exactly where Wanda was leading with this piece of information and trying not to panic at the unknown periods of her life. 

“I wasn’t frozen as often as I thought,” she realized out loud, her confounded face mirrored in Wanda’s expression across from her.  Mabel held out a hand and examined the familiar skin with unease.  _“How old am I?”_  

 _“Miss Foster,”_ FRIDAY’s voice broke the daze between her and Wanda, both women nearly jumping in their skins at the interruption.  _“Sergeant Barnes is searching for you.  Shall I inform him of your location?”_

 “I can speak to Bruce and Stephen,” Wanda offered, shuffling off of the bed and tucking her book under her arm.  Mabel nodded curtly at the suggestion.  The two doctors would have to find out in order to better assess the situation.  The possibility that such memories had been buried despite her perceived awareness, unnerved Mabel to no end.  

Was there a chance Bucky still hadn’t recovered all of himself? 

“FRIDAY, tell Bucky I’ll meet him in the library,” Mabel ordered the AI, sliding off her bed and flattening the wrinkles out of her cardigan.  She returned her attention to Wanda as the brunette psychic was leaving and called out, “Let me know as soon as they’re interested in speaking.”

Wanda smiled warmly. 

“Of course,” she promised with a small, parting wave.  

Mabel waited until Wanda was out of eyesight before letting out a long, _tense_ , sigh.  Her fingers shook as she plucked her book off of the edge of her bed and set it on a nearby stack of novels.  Should she share this revelation with Bucky?

The pair seldom kept secrets, and since he returned.  They often sat in the library and shared every possible memory they had.

 _“Sergeant Barnes requests that you bring, ‘the letters,’”_ FRIDAY chimed back into the room.  Mabel’s eyes immediately dropped on the box tucked under her bed containing all of her personal belongings. 

“Thank you,” Mabel mumbled to the unseen AI, dropping to her knees and sliding the smooth oak container into the open room.  Fumbling past the aged red scarf, and journals Sam had given her, she located the bundle at the bottom of the chest.  

They were still in perfect condition, untouched and tightly bound by the twine Joseph Rogers had sealed them with, over a hundred years before. 

Mabel closed the case, slid it back under her bed and clutched the letters to her chest like a precious child.  Perhaps, finally, she’d be able to give Steve a little peace in his turbulent life. 

She kept the letters safe in both hands the entire journey to the library.  Part of her was curious as to what the letters would reveal to her late friend’s son.  Of course, she wouldn’t press the issue unless Steve chose to share with her, but a small part of her regretted losing this last connection to her dear friend. 

“You’re looking beautiful this afternoon,” Bucky greeted, jumping up from his chair next to a book shelf and sliding an arm around the small of Mabel’s back, guiding her toward the corner where Steve sat, leaning forward tensely.

“Hello Bucky,” she greeted the brunette softly, before turning to Steve and offering a comforting smile.  “How are you, Steve?”

“Like I want to vomit,” the superhero admitted with a low chuckle.  “I’m guessing you know why?”  His blue fell on the bundle of letters, still clutched to Mabel’s chest protectively.  

“It’d be a shame to make the trip to Paris a waste,” she joked, a small grin flashing across her features at Bucky’s betrayed expression.  She held out the aged envelopes, her stomach dropping slightly when they were finally passed to their intended recipient after a century. 

“Do you want some privacy, Stevie?” Bucky inquired, wrapping a comforting arm around Mabel’s chest and pulling her into him, as if reading her mind that she needed the physical comfort. 

“ _Please_ ,” he replied, his entire attention fixed on the still bound letters.

Bucky pulled Mabel away, secluding the duo in a section of the library on the other end of the level.  Mabel didn’t even have to say a word; the brunette had simply pulled her tighter to him and kissed the top of her head.  

“He’s been nervous all week,” he murmured, pulling away to make eye contact, but still touching her intimately on the shoulders.  “He never knew his father, and I think he was a little envious of the connection you had with him.  Maybe he’ll find a connection or word of wisdom made just for him.”

Mabel didn’t respond, instead humming her agreement and pressing back into Bucky’s chest, suddenly exhausted by the day’s turn of events.  Wordlessly, Bucky wrapped his arms around her, as if protecting the smaller woman from all of her unspoken worries and demons with just his body. 

After a few minutes passed, Bucky guided her to a small loveseat in the corner of the room.  He made sure she was comfortable first, before sliding in next to her and picking up her hand.  

“You’re quieter than usual,” he noted, pulling her fingers into her flesh hand and playing with the digits aimlessly.  

She and Bucky were almost always touching, the intimacy becoming a sense of comfort and filling an unspoken void in both of the former prisoners of war.  That’d been the major change between the pair after the kiss in Paris, and after Mabel had finally gotten back to her senses. 

“I had an interesting morning with Wanda,” she replied as she tilted her head onto his shoulder.  Almost instantly, she could feel her blood pressure drop and her nerves settle.  Why had she been so nervous about this?  His heartbeat remained steady in her ears. 

“How so?” he asked, the interest flickering in his gaze as he looked down at her with a grin. 

“We remembered something that I can’t place,” Mabel confessed, going into a deeper detail and stopping when Bucky’s expression fell serious.  His grip on her hand tightened slightly before he swallowed, seemingly unable to come up with the proper thing to say.  

“Steve told me yesterday about what happened when Strange set the two of your heads straight,” he began, now looking away from his companion.  Mabel knew that this was one of Bucky’s reveals when he was unsure about telling her something.  “There were memories from before your escape… after you’d be caught by Hydra.  Of us… _together_.”

Mabel nodded anxiously, unable to form a response before he continued.

“I meant to mention it when we had lunch but-,” he paused and silenced when Mabel took her free hand and wrapped it over the one clutching onto her, forming a small shell of warmth. 

“And what about you?” she asked quietly, her hazel eyes questioningly meeting his.  She had a gut feeling of what he was about to say, but she needed to hear it out loud.  She needed to hear that she wasn’t alone.  “Is there more than your first day and my escape?”

“I had no recollection of what he told me,” Bucky flashed a grimace, shaking his head to himself.  “I suppose we’re more messed up than we thought.”

“At least you don’t have triggers anymore,” she mumbled, releasing the second pent up sigh of the day.  “Wanda went to talk to Banner and Strange.”  What was left unspoken between the pair was the promise of more therapy and mind bending.  More memories.  More _pain_.

“We were close, _I guess_ ,” he stated with a bitter laugh. 

Mabel couldn’t help but allow the laugh that bubbled up inside of her erupt.  She shook her head to herself, sitting up once the irony of the situation hit her.

“What?” he asked, chuckling at Mabel’s sudden shift in demeanor.  

“Wanda has been teasing me all week that we are star-crossed lovers,” she explained with another giggle.  “Maybe instead of _reincarnation_ , we’ve danced around history together and don’t even realize it.” 

Bucky’s expression lightened up at the thought, a smirk playing on the edges of his face before he stood up and offered a hand to the now befuddled blonde. 

“I like the sound of that more than being homicidal murder slaves,” he said, pulling her to her feet and giving her a quick twirl before pulling her into another embrace and resting his chin on the top of her head.  “My fierce, _stubborn_ , Mae.”

“My strong, _passionate_ , Bucky Barnes,” she mused, her face tilted upward with a smile.  She could still feel his heartbeat, steady and firm, pulsing into her like a constant tempo of peace. 

It was in that moment, something Mabel Foster would later realize, that she would do anything to ensure that the tempo never ceased.  

She’d kill, and she’d die, for James Barnes.

Perhaps Bucky had come to the same epiphany.  He pulled away just enough to slip a hand under her chin and pull her face toward his, pressing a soft kiss on her lips, smiling as he broke away.  

Mabel’s mind buzzed louder than it did in Paris.  

“ _Hey_ ,” Steve’s sheepish voice interrupted the spell.  Both assets snapped their heads toward the super soldier.  “We need to talk.” 

* * *

Tony frowned at the intel Natasha had collected during the Maine mission. 

Largely, it was more of the same.  Old notes about Hydra, experimentation, possible super soldier serums… but what caught his attention was a lab log from earlier in the month. 

They were trying to build the ark, just as he’d guessed. 

It was dumb luck that Rumlow and his group hadn’t gotten their hands on the essential intelligence that outlined the machine’s full mechanics.  Allegedly, the blueprints still existed somewhere in the world. 

But the Avengers had a leg up on him.  By having Mabel pull the original designs from her memories, they knew the rare materials that needed to be watched.  It was just a manner of time before Rumlow made another move. 

All in all, despite losing Rumlow, Maine had been a relative success.  It confirmed Tony’s theories and now the team could focus on other priorities instead of grasping aimlessly at random Hydra cells. 

“Yes, it complicates things,” Bruce’s voice echoed toward the lab from a nearby hallway.  The scientist was in a heated debate with someone as they approached.  “I just think the risks outweigh the benefits.” 

“Captain Rogers is right, everyone deserves a chance to find peace with their past,” Strange’s voice challenged.  “Would you erase your past, with the present as it is?”

There was a pause as the pair rounded the corner and took in the genius looking at them with a quirked brow. 

“Don’t tell me, more mind wipes?” he teased, waving a hand and closing out the window of Hydra files. 

“Wanda and Mabel stumbled across some old, previously erased, memories,” Bruce explained tersely.  “I think it might be too much to try and pull from both her and Barnes.  Not right now.”

Strange clicked his tongue disapprovingly.  

“And I think it’s essential to make sure both of the former _assassins_ come to full terms with their pasts,” the sorcerer emphasized.  “I certainly wouldn’t want to be in the field if Foster has a war flashback.”

“Barnes and Foster are on the bench,” Tony clarified sharply.  “Nat said he was distracted during the mission, so until Sam or a therapist clears him, he’s out.  And Mabel hasn’t even been cleared for field work, since she still can be triggered…” he trailed off in thought.  “Or maybe she can’t?  I don’t even know anymore.  The last month has been a headache.” 

He clutched the bridge of his nose as Bruce stepped forward.

“We can run more tests,” he suggested.  “See if Mabel is triggered, get Barnes to sit down with Sam.” 

“He’s been meeting with Sam all week,” Strange clarified to his companion.  “Him, Wanda, and Mabel.  His notes thus far have been unremarkable.”

“So, everyone _might_ have underlying PTSD?  What’s new?” Tony grunted with an eye roll, leaning back in his office chair.  “Who here doesn’t have a trigger?  Seriously, tell me, because I want to meet them.  We’re all screwed up, if you ask me.”

 “And healing that is significantly more efficient when you have all the variables, would you not agree?” Strange gestured between Bruce and Tony. 

“I didn’t say I disagree,” Bruce voiced.  “I’m just saying, with Rumlow and the terror attacks, it’s too volatile to take two history shaping brainwashed Hydra agents and rip their minds apart, right now.  Maybe later on?  But two snapped assets _and_ Rumlow?  That’s _begging_ for disaster.”

 Tony fell uncharacteristically quiet, pondering the two options to himself.  

“Has anyone asked what they want to do?” he questioned the pair.  “Because that might be a bit important.”

The two doctors exchanged frowns, falling quiet at the billionaire’s point. 

“Yeah,” Tony smirked, pushing himself to his feet.  “Maybe get on that and we can have our little debate later.  I have actual work to do, you know, tracking the international terror threat.”

* * *

“Did you know my mother was nearly killed in a mugging before my dad went to Europe?” Steve sat down across from Mabel and Bucky.  The unopened letters were stacked neatly next to him as he spoke, taunting Mabel with unseen secrets.

Bucky shifted, nodding slowly at the admission as he'd already heard the story.  

Did Mabel know that?  She kept her expression neutral as Steve continued to speak. 

“Some woman saved her life and scared the mugger away,” he gave a tense chuckle.  “She gave my mom this… red scarf I guess.  My mom told me it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen or owned.  She knew it had cost a fortune, but this woman had just _given_ it to her without a second thought.” 

Mabel stilled, frozen at her friend’s words.

“My father said that fortune always favored my mother,” he shrugged toward the pile of letters.  “They’d called the scarf their ‘lucky’ scarf, and she’d given it to him when he went to war for safety.  She promised him that she’d be safe without it.  She had good luck.”

_“Frankly, I don’t give a damn about your mother,” he replied before grabbing a nearby scarf and wrapping it around Mabel’s neck.  “I need you safe.  If I can’t make you happy, safe is the next best thing.”_

_Mabel clutched at the red scarf and bit her bottom lip, trying to fight back the tears that had threatened to pour over.  She quickly lost that battle; a small tear tracing an outline of her cheek, only to be wiped away by Pierre’s thumb._

_“Thank you,”_ _she whispered._

“Anyway, my dad had brought it to Europe with him,” he continued to explain.  “I guess it was lost or something.  He talked about it in his first letter.  He wanted me to have it, for luck.”

“I’d say you’re already pretty damn lucky,” Bucky laughed lightly, nudging Mabel with his elbow.  The blonde gave him a smile in response, lost in her thoughts.  She felt like her heart was about to explode. 

There was no way… 

“He was fond of you, Mae,” Steve changed the subject, smirking.  “Said you once punched one of the lieutenants when he’d harassed a local girl, and sent the guy sprawling.  He wanted my mom to take care of you after the war, make sure you found a worthy husband.”

There was that guilt.  Joseph Rogers had given so much for her, and still wanted to help her with the little he had.  She should have fled the battles and returned to New York to shower Sarah and her baby with all levels of luxury the moment Joseph had died. 

 Steve wouldn’t have had to suffer his illnesses… Mabel could have ensured Sarah had the money for the hospitals.  He wouldn’t have joined the army… or had Bucky protect him… 

Where would that have left them today?

“Steve, your father was a spectacular man,” Mabel finally found her voice and reached for his hands, grasping them tightly.  “He was brave, and strong, and loved you unconditionally until his last moment.  If he’d any choice, he never would have left Brooklyn.  Your mother was everything to him.  He wouldn’t shut up about the gorgeous Irish bride he left behind, and the future he had planned for her and his children.” 

She saw his Adam’s apple bob at the confession, as he swallowed, a mix of emotions flashing across his features.  

“Thank you,” he finally voiced, his voice cracking ever so slightly.  “Thank you for protecting him when my mother couldn’t.” 

Mabel blinked back a few tears that had gathered in her eyelids.  Distantly, she felt Bucky’s hand slip onto her lap, pressing into the thigh comfortingly. 

_“Thank you,” the woman breathed in relief.  She readjusted to her full height and pulled the woman into an embrace.  “It was the first time I’d been paid in weeks, and my husband needed the money for our apartment…”  She pulled away and held Mabel’s hands, trembling slightly._

_“Here,” Mabel whispered and wrapped her scarf around the woman’s neck, bundling it under the thin jacket the woman wore.  “I’m Mabel.”_

_“Sarah,” the woman replied.  “I cannae thank you enough, truly.”_

* * *

** Brooklyn, New York City- April 1911 **

 

“Happy birthday, my princess,” Samuel beamed, pressing the neatly wrapped parcel into Mabel’s gloved hands.  The heiress raised an amused brow, pulling at the ribbon that twisted around the ornately decorated paper. 

“Sam... I just wanted to have a picnic with you,” she protested, laughing despite the teasing glare she shot her beloved.  “You need to save your… _Samuel_ …”

She was at a loss for words as she took in the small gift he’d given her. 

It was a crimson scarf that she’d pointed out during a stroll in Manhattan the previous year.  He’d earnestly promised her that he’d get it for her, to which she joked that her father could simply purchase the whole store. 

The material was rare, and the price tag was much more than the poor Irish boy would ever be able to afford.  Not without having worked for weeks.  

“I told you,” he grinned at her.  Mabel set the box down and grabbed him, pulling him into a kiss. 

“You sweet, ridiculous, boy,” she murmured, her lips hovering above his.  She met his light blue gaze, her arms still secured around the back of his neck. 

“I’m a sentimental fool,” he confessed.  “And I know it’s a little early, but once winter arrives, you have to wear it every day.”

“I’ll cherish it until the day I die,” she promised softly, pressing her lips against his once more.  “And then I’ll be buried in it.” 

* * *

  **“Somewhere the timing will all come together.**

**The mishaps will turn into sunny Decembers.**

**The lovers will be able to find their willow.”**


	16. Tomorrow Will Be Kinder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not dead! I've been planning my wedding nonstop and since the big day is on Saturday (and I finished my damn centerpieces), I sat down and hammered out a few updates for this! 
> 
> Once again, so sorry for the delay! I'm trashy-mctrashface at consistent updates and I know how frustrating that can be. You're all amazing and spectacularly patient people and I love you!
> 
> Enjoy!

**“Black clouds are behind me.I now can see ahead.**

**Often I wonder why I tried, hoping for an end.**

**Sorrow weighs my shoulders down, and trouble haunts my mind.**

**But I know, the present will not last, and tomorrow will be kinder.”**

**\- The Secret Sisters (Tomorrow will be kinder)**

* * *

“ _Focus_ ,” Stephen Stranger narrowed his eyes at the frowning blonde across from him.Her eyes were squeezed shut, her brows furrowed, yet no change had occurred in the spell he’d cast over the two of them.

“I’m focusing,” Mabel hissed under her breath, growing frustrated with the exercise.He had offered to help her work through her memories, _under the radar_.Bruce was adamant that she and Bucky stay as stable as possible until Rumlow was tracked down, and the others had agreed. 

_Steve_ had made the final call after talking it over with Bucky, who approached Mabel with the idea.Of course she smiled through the decision, but quickly confided in Wanda who summoned Strange to help in recovering the missing memories.Needless to say, no one but the trio were aware of the meetings that had been going on for a little over a month now.  

Today, after hours of discussion and study, Mabel and Stephen were going to attempt a mental connection.

“You’re distracted by something,” Strange insisted curtly.“Stop thinking about your boyfriend and focus on your _mind_.”

“My life doesn’t revolve around James Barnes,” she shot back dryly.She opened her eyes and let out a long breath, inhaling through her nose before her gaze fell on the sorcerer.“What am I doing wrong?”

“You’re letting too much pass through,” he replied gesturing for her to hold up her hand. 

Mabel reached forward hesitantly, her unease clear through ever fiber of her being. 

“You have to trust in _this_ if you want it to work,” he continued, taking her hand and facing the palm upward.Waving his hand over hers, he created a small image of a butterfly that fluttered over her fingertips before floating around the room.“Until the mental block comes down, I can’t help you.”

Mabel watched the butterfly with wonder.As it began to dissipate, a new determination filled her posture and she nodded toward him. 

“Let’s try again,” she offered a small smile before closer her eyes and relaxing her shoulders. 

“Empty your mind.Focus on balance, focus on harmony,” he repeated the mantra over and over, closing his eyes and falling into the familiar meditative pattern.This time. however, Mabel had finally found the plane that he needed.He could finally access her mind.

It started with darkness. 

This was what the team had attempted with Wanda, but the young woman wasn’t trained in such an advanced technique.That’s where things had gone wrong. 

Strange knew what to look for, and what to avoid. 

“It’s _dark_ ,” he commented, his voice echoing around the space.In the distance, a small light sparked to life.He took a few steps forward before staring face to face with Mabel Foster.  

But this Mabel wasn’t the short haired blonde soldier he knew.This Mabel had neatly styled hair and a dress that looked like it belong in a museum. 

“I can’t seem to find the light,” she replied, frowning in concentration as she gazed around the emptiness in interest.“Where are we?” 

“We’re in your soul, your _consciousness_ ,” he explained, stepping around Mabel and continuing forward.

“No wonder it’s dark,” she chided lightly, following behind and occasionally glancing over her shoulder.“What do we do now?”

“That’s up to you,” Strange kicked at the ground and listened as the noise continued indefinitely into the distance.“This entire realm is completely within your control.It’s your hopes, your fears, and your memories.Hence the, _er_ , period regalia.”

Mabel glanced down in confusion, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise as her fingers ran over the lace of her bodice. 

“I didn’t-,” she began but fell silent.Her fingers toyed with a piece of lace over her sleeves and she smiled.“I wore this the day my father announced his business deal in Spain.”

That’s all it took for the entire space to shift from the empty darkness into a brightly lit ballroom.

Stephen moved closer to Mabel, watching her scan each of the laughing party guests that now surrounded the pair. 

“It was my younger brother’s birthday,” she wove through the crowd, seemingly searching for something and pausing when she spied a familiar face.“Mother had ordered this dress special from France and made me dance with Pierre that night.It was a shame she didn’t realize that Pierre had more interest in one of the kitchen girls.”

She nodded toward the corner of the room where a tall, red haired gentleman whispered in the ear of a blushing young woman.The entire room pulsed with energy while Mabel and Stephen studied every aspect of it. 

“What’s so significant about this memory?” he asked, ducking out of the way of a group of party goers.

“My father left for Europe in the morning,” Mabel paused, a few feet away from her father who let out a boisterous laugh at a nearby man’s joke.“His ship was hit by a U Boat.There were no survivors.”

Strange hummed an acknowledgement, following behind her as she approached her father from behind. 

To her surprise, the business owner turned around and beamed at the sight of his daughter.

“My dear, why so somber?” he pulled her into a tight embrace, laughing over her shoulder.“We’re celebrating, or haven’t you heard?”

Mabel found a tear had escaped her eye and she gave an offhanded chuckle. 

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled wiping away at her cheek.“I’m already counting down the moments until you return from your trip.”

“Oh sweetheart,” he cupped her cheek, passing his associate his glass and pulling her back into another comforting hug.“Don’t fret.I’ll be home in no time and I’ll take you to the lake.How does that sound?”

Mabel choked back a cry, her tone breaking before she spoke.

“That sounds _wonderful_ ,” she whispered.He gave her another grin before returning to his conversation.“How did that just happen?”

Strange realized the question was directed toward him. 

“It’s your memory,” he shrugged.“With a little magic.It doesn’t change what actually happened, but you can control _everything_ in here.”

She nodded slowly, watching the room move with life and vigor.The event had quite the impact on Mabel’s life, whether she openly admitted it or not.

“Shall we try something else?” he suggested.“I’ve read over your file a few times, and I know things fell apart after this moment.Unfortunately, that’s the part we need to dig through.”

She blinked, the entire space falling back into the darkness once more. 

“What are you thinking?” she asked, taking a few tentative steps toward him. 

“The first time you met Barnes,” he stated, holding her gaze.He didn’t even flinch when the memory crash around them.This time, they were spectators to the scene that unfolded in front of them.

James Barnes lay moaning on a gurney.His leg arm in shambles from his fall off of the train.Granted, Mabel wouldn’t have known that in the moment.A few feet away, an unmoving Mabel was hooked to an IV that pulled blood from her arm. 

It was a brief moment of peace for a group of scientists burst through the doors to the small room and began arguing in Russian. 

Mabel and Stephen stepped back, watching silently as the two super soldiers were wheeled away toward an operating theater. 

“I think he wakes up soon,” she noted, pushing open the large metal doors and stepping into the room.Sure enough, Barnes began to shout profanities toward the scientists in English, stirring the dazed Mabel from her position in the medical bed. 

“Do you recognize any of the faces in here?” Strange waved a hand, freezing the scene while Mabel passed from face to face.

It felt like an eternity had passed before she spoke up. 

“ _Him_.”

Her voice was empty and she stilled. 

“Who is he?” Strange questioned, standing next to her and studying the man’s features.He seemed familiar… but Stephen couldn’t quite recall the source. 

“The Doctor… _Dr. Heinrich Krauss_ ,” the name came automatically once her mind connected the picture Tony showed her to the vivid memory she now experienced. 

Just as the name left her lips, the space shifted again, this time to a small, damp room. 

There was a single lightbulb illuminating the space.Somewhere in the distance, Stephen was certain that he could hear the growl of thunder.

“No,” Mabel whispered, whipping her head in the opposite direction.A small door appeared, the handle rattling a moment while Mabel backed herself against the wall.“Can’t we watch this?”

“You’re the only one who controls the direction,” Strange replied, stepping toward her protectively.He tried waving a hand, but the memory was too strong for him to interfere. 

They had to ride this one through. 

The door opened, revealing a lanky man with patchy brown hair.His hands were stuffed into the pockets of a white coat, and his tie was tucked back over his shoulder. 

“Good evening, _mon cherie_ ,” he greeted with a grin.“I’ve heard you’ve been misbehaving for my assistants.”

“We need to leave,” Mabel turned to Strange, her eyes were wide, pure fear radiating from every atom in her body. 

“You control this,” he reminded her coolly.The lanky man closed the door behind him, eyeing the newcomer suspiciously. 

“You brought a friend?” the man asked in amusement.“He looks special too.Shall we see the things he can do?”

The man started toward Strange with a small syringe, but Mabel intercepted, grabbing at the man’s wrist and twisting it back. 

“ _No_ ,” she stated.“You leave him be.”

A resounding slap silenced the room for a heartbeat. 

“Remember your place,” he growled, towering over the petite blonde. 

Mabel took a step back, closing her eyes. 

“I control this,” she stated, inhaling deeply.The memory paused, and she opened her eyes, breathing in relief.“This is Dr. Krauss as I knew him.”

“He tortured you,” Strange scowled at the man.

“He tortured a lot of people,” she mused, staring down the man with a snarl.She ripped the syringe from his hand and jammed it into his neck, emptying its contents into his veins. 

Perhaps it wasn’t the healthiest form of therapy, but Strange couldn’t blame the woman when the memory snapped back to life and Krauss dropped to the ground with a screech. 

She watched apathetically as he begged for mercy from unseen monsters, writhing, and tossing on the dirty stone floor.

As the memory faded away, Mabel threw the syringe on the floor and looked up at Strange. 

“Do you think I’m a monster?” she asked quietly.Neither of the pair moved.They stood a few feet apart in the vast nothingness between them. 

“No,” Stephen answered softly.He paused, taking in the subtle relief that washed over his companion.“I think you’re human, and I think life has been grossly unfair to you, my dear.”

The connection broke. 

Suddenly, Stephen was back in his quarters with Mabel sitting across from him, her face a stark contrast from the tear stained woman in her mind.The Mabel of reality hadn’t shed a single tear.

They sat in silence for some time, digesting the experience that had been shared between them.

Finally, when the silence subsided and Mabel had finished staring into the distance, she turned to Strange and stated, just above a whisper:

_“Thank you.”_

* * *

“ _Rumlow_ ,” Rollins summoned the former SHIELD agent toward a computer in the back of the apartment they’d set up base in. 

The disfigured leader sauntered over, his arms folded over his chest as the Hydra agent spoke.

“We found something in the Paris files,” Rollins began, opening the file and scrolling through the record.He clicked through a few notes before pulling up a scanned copy of a file with “ _Project Rebirth_ ” written across the letterhead. 

“World War II?” Rumlow asked, skimming over the notes and not recognizing any oft he names mentioned.

“World War I,” Rollins clarified.“1918 and beyond… this is before Captain America and the Winter Soldier… and the formula’s _all_ here.”

A wicked grin spread across Rumlow’s features as he continued reading the record. 

_Yes_ , he nodded to himself. _This would do perfectly_. 

The notes were written in a crude code that consisted of German and Russian phrases, but Rollins had already decrypted the files secrets. 

“How quickly could we replicate it?”Rumlow questioned sharply.He wanted to give the Avengers a taste of their medicine- a super soldier loyal to the mission of Hydra’s world order. 

“That’s where things become more… difficult,” Rollins lifted a folder from the side of the desk and passed it to Rumlow, a frown etched into his tired features.“Krauss had one survivor of the formula, some French girl.Last name, _Garnier_.”

“Find everything you can, dates, burial place, _anything_ ,” Rumlow studied the picture wishing the file; a black and white photograph of a gaunt blonde woman, no older than thirty.There were no dates or further information, but the eyes that stared back at him reminded Brock of the empty, chilling stare of the Winter Soldier. 

They’d found their ace.Now they just needed to replicate its results. 

* * *

“House arrest has got to be the worst,” Sam commented, giving an ‘ _oof_ ’ when Bucky tackled him to the ground in the sparring ring.He hurriedly tapped the assassins shoulder and hopped back to his feet.“I’d lose my mind.”

“Apparently that’s what caused the problem in the first place,” Bucky chided in return.He offered his friend a sad smile when silence fell over the friends. 

“Steve told me about the letters,” Sam continued, reaching for a nearby towel to dab the sweat off of his face.“Crazy stuff.I’m beginning to think the two of you should start playing the lotto.You’ve got to be the luckiest bastards I’ve ever met.”

“Is it really luck?” Bucky challenged chuckling lightly.Sam rolled his eyes, his gaze falling over Bucky’s shoulder. 

“It’s _something_ , man,” he nodded toward the entrance of the gym, where Tony and Steve stood, grim expressions on their faces.

“Where’s the fight?” Bucky called out, throwing aside his towel and starting toward the men. 

“Madripoor,” Tony replied, passing him a thin file.Bucky opened it to reveal a single photograph of Rumlow speaking with a man on the side of a street. 

“He’s really not hiding,” Bucky mumbled, shooting a glance toward Steve.“Who’s going in?”

“You, me, and Clint,” Steve replied, the group turning toward the door and starting toward the briefing room.“Black ops.We aren’t to engage or capture, no matter how tempting.This is purely an intelligence mission.”

“Why aren’t we bringing Nat?” Bucky’s brows rose in surprise at the strict instructions.It was a valid question after all, the red-haired spy was the best at intelligence gathering on the team. 

“She and Wanda have their own mission,” Tony explained, gesturing toward the open door of the briefing room.“We’re tag teaming a few old Hydra bases while you watch Rumlow.”

“How many teams?” Bucky sat down, his mind shifting into mission mode.Steve grinned over at his friend. 

“Three teams will be hitting these bases while we’re on the ground in Madripoor…”

A map was pulled up and the trio outlined the mission to the most minuet detail. 

“Don’t let Rumlow _toy_ with you,” Tony warned in a low voice.Bucky could have sworn he saw genuine concern in the billionaire’s eyes.“We need you in the field more than we need you on lockdown.Keep your head together.”

Bucky knew what Tony meant between the lines. 

_Stay focused.Don’t get distracted.Don’t get_ **_killed_ ** _._


End file.
